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2016 – Romania Without Dracula

Anno: 2016

  • Interview – Mike Ormsby

    Interview – Mike Ormsby

    After having enjoyed reading Never Mind the Balkans, Here’s Romania, I wanted to know more about the author Mike Ormsby and his subject matter. A British writer and former BBC journalist, World Service trainer and musician, Mike welcomed my questions with the same enthusiasm and passion I had found in his writing. With his wife Angela Nicoara, also journalist and writer, he has chosen Magura, Transylvania as his main place of residence. 

    What kind of reactions has your book received in the course of time? Can you detect any difference in its reception between Romanian and English readers?

    Since 2008, when the book was published, the majority of my readers seem to have enjoyed it. Most of them find it amusing, direct, and accurate; I’m glad about that. My first publisher was a bit worried and said, “Romania is not ready for your book – it’s too honest.” I replied, “But if not now, then when?” As it turned out, Romania’s literary critics gave the book a very positive reception and several described me as “our British Caragiale”. Most readers on Amazon, GoodReads, and so on, have been very supportive too, and I’ve made new friends this way. Of course, some people do not enjoy the book and post negative reviews, but that’s life and I don’t mind unless they misrepresent or tell lies about my work, as some do, because that’s not fair.

    To answer the second part of your question, many Romanians seemed surprised that a foreigner could observe, understand, and write about their country in a way that ’opened their eyes’. For example, a Romanian Army general told me that he thought his wife was crazy for looking after street dogs, until he read my book. Now, he sees them differently and even helps her.

    As regards nationalities, I have not sensed differences between the reactions of Romanian and Anglophone readers. On the contrary, I see similarities. For example, many Anglophones and Romanians see this country clearly and are honest about its pros and cons. In my experience, when such people read ‘Never Mind’ they tend to share my own outlook and find the book to be fair and realistic. However, the opposite applies: some foreigners (often tourists) and some Romanians (often nationalists) wish to ‘defend’ the country from perceived attacks and do not share my outlook.

    You wrote the book eight years ago and I have read the book now finding its tales still very topical. Do you think that anything has actually changed since then, if so, how?

    Most drivers are more courteous and less aggressive, now. There is less smoking in public places and people seem more interested in healthy living. On the one hand, I hope Romania continues to change in such positive ways. On the other hand, I hope some things will not change: Romanians’ hospitality, their generosity, quick wit, fatalistic sense of humour, their remarkable ability to improvise with tools, and their ability to make fun of the bad times – haz de necaz. Those aspects I will always respect and cherish.

    Many young characters in your tales show personal ambitions, various degrees of cynicism and little interest in getting involved in community issues. Can you see now a change in the general trend, with young generations more politically and socially active, see Rosia Montana and Colective movements, or do you consider them niche phenomenons of major cities?

    It is several years since I’ve lived in a Romanian city, so I can only answer based on my experience of life in our mountain village. Here, young people seem keen on community issues. For example, for the last two years, my wife Angela Nicoara and I have been picking up litter from local roads and forests. A dozen local children got involved and we’ve since gathered almost two tonnes of litter. I’ll tell you more about this later.

    The gap between the richest and the poorest in the country has widened further, with the middle class caught up in a quagmire and in search of a new political representation. What should we be expecting at the oncoming political elections due on December 11? Anything new under the sun?

    As a politician might say, I’m glad you asked me this, although, actually, I’m not glad, because I have no idea what to expect. Put it this way, if Trump can get to the White House (as I expected), and if the UK can exit the EU (as I did not expect), then anything is possible in Romania. I hope for the best, but fear the worst.

    Many of your characters experience at least a period abroad, which always help them observe the country more lucidly. These diaspora people, some leave for good, some finally chose to come back. Is there a role diaspora people can play in the present/future of this country?

    Politically, ex-pats can help by voting in Romania’s elections. Financially, they can help by sending cash home, and many do. Culturally, they can help by making sure that their children are raised as bi-lingual speakers, this is very important. Personally, they can help by being decent people – as so many are – in order to help counter balance any negative stereotypes of ‘Romanians’. In my experience, travel changes us all, sometimes for the better. So, there’s hope for us all, and my suggestions could apply equally to Brits; we are no angels.

    Among the many pending issues facing the Romanian society, lack of a basic environmental education and total absence of a recycling and waste management policy represent major ones. Tell us about your video about picking up litter, and about the idea behind it.

    Angela and I decided to make the video after a villager yelled an ironic comment while we were picking litter. Before I tell you what that person yelled, a little context might help, as follows.

    Despite our many invitations to them, no local adults help us to collect litter in Magura. Instead, they offer excuses, e.g. I’m too busy. Some parents even tried to forbid their kids from helping us to tidy up because they think it’s undignified, dirty, and ‘not our problem’, even though many of them own guest houses and thus benefit from a cleaner village for tourists to enjoy. Naturally, we are disappointed, especially as our work takes only a couple of hours every month or so. Anyway, moving on …

    We were with local kids collecting litter from a mountain lane, when a local yelled, “Hah! Vino Mama, sa ma vezi cum lucrez la spatii verzi!” Angela told me that this was a sarcastic reference to a communist-era work slogan: “Mum, come and see, I’m working in the green spaces!”

    We’d been thinking for a while about making a music video with some of the village kids who attend my ukulele class, but we had not chosen a song from our repertoire. So, we decided to use that communist-era slogan for a new song about collecting litter, a song urging local parents to help us. We were sitting in a pizza place at the time and we heard ‘Every Breath You Take’ in the background. We realised we could adapt Sting’s nice tune but add our own lyrics about litter in Magura. Angela found an experienced cameraman to help shoot and edit the film, and a neighbour choreographed traditional dance steps for the kids. We added a comic touch – dancing with bags full of rubbish – and paid homage to Bob Dylan with our flash cards listing the sorts of things we find in the village. You name it, we find it!

    The video shoot took several days and was very hard work in hot weather. It can be tricky coordinating a dozen kids, for shot after shot, but they were very cooperative. When they got tired, we told them, “This is how it feels to be a movie star, it’s a lot of work!” That made them feel a bit famous and they’d brighten up.

    So far, our video has had around 30,000 hits on the Internet and dozens of supportive comments. Lucian Mandruta from DigiFM posted it on his Facebook page, which helped. If you wish to watch, here is the link: ‘Amazing Romania!’ Please share, every thumb helps. But will local adults? We’ll see.

    For all its shortcomings and chronic problems, Romania is the place you have decided to call home. What is it that attracts you most here?

    When I first came to Romania in 1994 as a BBC reporter, it felt very different to other countries and attracted me in a way I could not resist. I had never visited a former communist state in eastern Europe and found this one fascinating; most of all, I liked the people. A few months later, I came back to teach at Scoala BBC in Bucharest and stayed a couple of years. I met Angela and then we moved to Bosnia, the first of seventeen different countries that we would live in during the twenty years that followed. Our life was very nomadic and we had no chance or wish to settle, but, eventually, we took a break and bought a house here in the mountains of Transylvania. We like the clean air and quiet atmosphere, after years living in big cities such as Jakarta, Khartoum, and Baku. We like pets but were never able to own any, since we moved too often, so this village is ideal for those we adopted recently – three dogs and five cats.

    Last summer, a Romanian friend told us that he has no desire to live anywhere else because, ‘This country has just enough rules’. That made us smile and I know what he means. For all its problems, as you say, Romania has a special something that you won’t find elsewhere. When I’m away, say, in England for a few weeks, I miss that special something, whatever it is. However, Angela and I do get restless after too long in one place. Once a nomad, always a nomad, perhaps? Our feet are starting to itch, I fear!

    If a ‘sufletul romanesc’ exists, what would you think it consists in? What role plays irony in it?

    What’s in a Romanian soul? Great question! Certainly an affinity with the land – Romanians seem to enjoy a deep and lasting link to the countryside and the pleasures it affords. Every Romanian seems to know where to procure good fruit and vegetables, or the best tuica that money cannot buy, and so on. I think such links keep one’s feet on the ground, literally and metaphorically, although it took me a while to appreciate that, perhaps because most people in the UK no longer have those connections. What else? Hmm, perhaps an ability to get around the rules – or such rules as exist – to survive. Certainly a morbid fear of death by draughts, an allergy to seat belts (especially in an aircraft), and a chronic inability to wait in an orderly queue. Irony, yes, definitely. It’s the ace of the cards that life deals you, here.

    Any other project coming soon?

    I’m working on a collection of short stories set in Transylvania.

    Cover photo by Cosmin Bumbuț

  • Mum, come and see… Kids Singing Green

    Mum, come and see… Kids Singing Green

    While Romania needs to hurry up to cross the 2020 finish line with all its EU waste targets met, the situation on the ground becomes more and more unsustainable. At its core we find a cultural challenge which needs tackling by any possible means. Irony and direct involvement may prove amazing tools, as Amazing Romania! seems to suggest. It is a video produced by Mike Ormsby and Angela Nicoara who chose to deal with the Romanian green issue in a very creative way.  In his RWD interview Mike Ormsby has revealed us the origin and the funny details behind the video shot in Magura and starring very special (and crucial) actors. 

    Enjoy the video and, above all, share it!

    Excerpt from RWD interview to Mike Ormsby:

    “Angela and I decided to make the video after a villager yelled an ironic comment while we were picking litter. Before I tell you what that person yelled, a little context might help, as follows.

    Despite our many invitations to them, no local adults help us to collect litter in Magura. Instead, they offer excuses, e.g. I’m too busy. Some parents even tried to forbid their kids from helping us to tidy up because they think it’s undignified, dirty, and ‘not our problem’, even though many of them own guest houses and thus benefit from a cleaner village for tourists to enjoy. Naturally, we are disappointed, especially as our work takes only a couple of hours every month or so. Anyway, moving on …

    We were with local kids collecting litter from a mountain lane, when a local yelled, “Hah! Vino Mama, sa ma vezi cum lucrez la spatii verzi!” Angela told me that this was a sarcastic reference to a communist-era work slogan: “Mum, come and see, I’m working in the green spaces!”

    We’d been thinking for a while about making a music video with some of the village kids who attend my ukulele class, but we had not chosen a song from our repertoire. So, we decided to use that communist-era slogan for a new song about collecting litter, a song urging local parents to help us. We were sitting in a pizza place at the time and we heard ‘Every Breath You Take’ in the background. We realised we could adapt Sting’s nice tune but add our own lyrics about litter in Magura. Angela found an experienced cameraman to help shoot and edit the film, and a neighbour choreographed traditional dance steps for the kids. We added a comic touch – dancing with bags full of rubbish – and paid homage to Bob Dylan with our flash cards listing the sorts of things we find in the village. You name it, we find it!

    The video shoot took several days and was very hard work in hot weather. It can be tricky coordinating a dozen kids, for shot after shot, but they were very cooperative. When they got tired, we told them, “This is how it feels to be a movie star, it’s a lot of work!” That made them feel a bit famous and they’d brighten up.

    So far, our video has had around 30,000 hits on the Internet and dozens of supportive comments. Lucian Mandruta from DigiFM posted it on his Facebook page, which helped. If you wish to watch, here is the link: ‘Amazing Romania!’ Please share, every thumb helps. But will local adults? We’ll see.”

     

     

     

     

     

  • Never Mind the Balkans, Here’s Romania

    Never Mind the Balkans, Here’s Romania

    Mike Ormsby, Never Mind the Balkans, Here’s Romania 
    Kindle Edition, 2, 211 pages
    Published June 28th 2012 by Mike Ormsby (first published January 1st 2008)

    Admittedly, it has taken me some time to discover Never Mind the Balkans, Here’s Romania, first published in 2008, yet here I am now, eager to fill that awkward gap.

    In this collection of fifty-seven short stories, Mike Ormsby, a writer and former BBC journalist/World Service trainer, chronicles various moments of his experiences in Romania between 1994 and 2006, when Romania became his home.

    Published simultaneously in Romanian as Grand Bazar Romania (translated by Vlad A. Arghir), Ormsby’s book received a range of reactions – from sheer enthusiasm to harsh criticism – mostly depending on readers’ personal visions, expectations, and sometimes, on their nationality.

    Personally, I could not help getting absorbed in tales that so vividly evoke situations and characters almost identical to those I have come across, eight years later.

    Irony – and, even more valuable, self-deprecating irony – seems to me the X-factor which makes you enjoy reading this book, to the point that some local critics have dubbed Ormsby ‘our British Caragiale’, after the 19th century playwright and satirist. Alas, I wish I knew more about Caragiale – just another one of the huge gaps I still need to fill – to fully appreciate that comment, surely enough, though, the author’s funny and bittersweet tone works as an antidote to his keen empathy with Romanians and their unique land, providing him with a safe distance from which to observe the scene.

    Indeed, Never Mind the Balkans is not the only book about contemporary Romania under “modern foreign eyes”, so to say, and I will be dealing with at least a couple of others soon enough: Philip O’Ceallaigh’s Notes From a Turkish Whorehouse  (Insemnari dintr-un bordel turcesc, translated by Ana-Maria Lisman), and Voyage en Roumanie by Alain Kerjean; each contribute in their own way to unveil some of the deep mechanisms at work inside contemporary Romanian society.

    Back to Ormsby’s book, it strikes me for having succeeded in assembling such a vivid gallery of characters, so powerfully close to the “real thing”: you cannot but feel grateful for that. In each story, the author blends into his surrounding and allows characters to speak for themselves. His voice is never invasive nor in the least sounding like the usual “wise guy from the West”. Rather, quite often he limits himself to acting as litmus paper within his environment, letting people and situations speak for themselves. Like in Why Not, where his artistic projects with his friend Adrian finally cannot but crash when faced with the dumb indifference of an incompetent journalist, whereas in Nice Sofa, Ormsby lucidly stops aside to actually wonder, “Was it my fault? Was I some wise guy from the West, with big ideas?” So, as I went on reading – always with valuable help from my Urban Dictionary – I enjoyed descriptions conjuring up, in a bunch of words, whole human landscapes and situations.

    More. Many tales leave you with a surreal aftertaste, not an infrequent impression in Romania. Take Labyrinth, where characters successfully incarnate one mainstream approach to life here: “Live by the rules and don’t get stressed.” Others – with generous help from serendipity – focus on the past or dig into local history to finally present you with little treasures, like Buried, where, en passant, Mihai Eminescu is described as that chap “with the rock-star looks”. The tale sheds light on the little known, tragic biography of a promising young translator, Corneliu Popescu, whom Ormsby discovers by chance while searching in the public library for English translations of Romanian authors. As a teenager, Popescu translated Eminescu, and brilliantly so, but died alongside his mother in the 1977 earthquake.

    Another kind of sadness takes you when reading tales like Șpaga, depicting the use of bribes as the mainstream strategy to solve any practical problem or life issue, applicable at every possible social level.

    The good thing about these tales is that they are not Bucharest-centred: Ormsby travels the whole country and encounters very different human habitats. In The Wrong Place, we end up in a small village, Tușnad, with poor Tanti Dorina who is caught in her damp bed between past and future, whereas in Too Good To Be True, a hiking trip takes us up into the Carpathian Mountains, dangerously close to angry sheepdogs. But it is definitely in tales like Faith, Hope, and Chablis that I most appreciate Ormsby’s voice. Here, two worlds – West and East Europe (allow me to generalise) appear to get extremely close one another, yet something goes wrong and it does smack of us-and-them – indeed a chasm – unless prejudice and self assurance are not won by good will and a sincere wish to understand “the other”. I won’t say more, because I do invite you to pick up this book and enjoy your reading.

    Overall, I am grateful to Ormsby and will steal a quote from John Lennon, one which the author passes on to his friend George, a character we meet in several tales: “Life is what happens while you are making other plans.”

  • My Take – Wake Up, Romanian!

    My Take – Wake Up, Romanian!

    December 1st is Romanian National Day, you can tell that from details like the sudden sprouting of flags proudly attached on each side of car windows,  the smaller the car, the more likely the presence of flags.

    General Elections Are in the Air

    Yesterday morning the military parade – after three days of rehearsals and extra traffic due to detours – was arranged along Șoseaua Kiseleff, with the renovated Arcul de Triumf the heart location of the event. Apparently Ms Gabriela Firea (PSD), the recently elected Bucharest mayor, has succeeded in completing just in time the consolidation works of the Arc which have been keeping the monument invisible for the last four years. General Elections are due on December 11th and this appointment cannot but be seen also as a preparatory show off. More, due to the latest developments of the world politics, the annual military parade has proved an excellent opportunity to underline the strong links that Romania entertains both with the European Union and Nato.

    Soulful Notes

    As I walked to reach the venue, I was impressed by the level of participation in the event: families, children, older people, youngsters of all types – from hipsters to students, to manual workers – women from every kind of social and cultural background, and eccentrics, of course. While people with their flags still rolled up kept on flocking out from the Aviatorilor metro station, others had parked somewhere around and were converging from all other possible directions. In a corner of piata Charles De Gaulle  a street musician was tuning the Romanian national anthem on his fiddle, children watching while their parents strutted them onward. In fact, those few soulful notes touched me deeply and stroke a cord of deep respect for this mysterious country.

    The Call of the Past

    When I reached Kiseleff at least five rows of spectators were already covering the street view, I wonder how much earlier they had to get there and, above all, how much colder it must have been then, considering that it was still rather chilly at ten something. Back in Italy, patriotic parades are much less successful, football championships maybe… Here it must have something to do with their communist past and the emphasis on public parades. When the never-ending  parade began – also an Italian military presence was featured! – Romanians did their best to catch as much as they could, by any possible means. The moment air-fighters rocketed over our heads I could not help feeling overwhelmed by personal memories – my dad was an F104 aviator in his days – and so it was that the Romanian National Day was also my day.

    La Multi Ani, Romania!

    • Heading to the parade at Arcul de Triumf
    • The National Anthem “Deșteaptă-te, române!” played on the street

     

  • Printre Cuvinte – Amid Words

    Printre Cuvinte – Amid Words

    Rap is not my genre but rappers may tell us something about the mood of the youngest ones: they powerfully echo shared disillusionments and hopes (?) and on national scales they “localise” nightmares and dreams of the latest generation. Their voices are worth listening to if you are interested in catching the mood of the youngest citizens in a country. In Bucharest Omu Gnom is one of them and the lyrics of his Printe Cuvinte (Amid Words) welcome you in the world of the Colectiv Generation.

    Omu Gnom, Printre cuvinte, 2016

    Sunt nebun, spun unii că da, dar eu dau vorbe de duh
    Că atenție unu, sau bunică-ta
    Dacă nu te implici, nu o să întelegi ce s-a relatat
    E ca și când ai băgat cereale, să știi integrale la BAC
    Nu ne-am născut pe planeta asta doar s-o populăm
    Trebuie să ne găsim drumul, să vedem după ce scop umblăm
    Ce lideri votăm, ce neghiobi urmăm
    Ce vrem de fapt să facem, si ce top urcăm
    Ne trezim uneori, dar parcă încă dormim
    Toți la aceeași masă, sătui de mâncătorii
    Dar fiecare se uită la altă farfurie și e cam trist,
    Când vezi omul bulversat ca un câine rasist
    Vezi ce ai în casă, înainte să te uiți pe fereastră
    Uneori am impresia, că suntem toți împotriva noastră
    Când de fapt, suntem toți la fel
    Și toată șmecheria, e că armonia salvează România

    Eu pot să-ți vorbesc mult despre una, alta
    Dar tu ești schimbarea ta, tu ești meșterul și unealta
    Ai răbdare cu tine, caută-te, găsește-te
    Descoperă-te, bucură-te de tine, liniștește-te
    Astea-s vorbe goale, dacă nu îmbraci cu ele fapte
    Teoretic pare ușor, și practic par grele toate
    Totul până începi, și apoi o să găsești ajutor la tot pasul
    Te-ai săturat să te-nvârți în cerc, precum compasul
    Trebuie să ai credință-n bine, să fi spiritual
    Nu contează că ești ateu, creștin sau musulman
    Trebuie să facem ceva, ne-am învățat prost de tot
    Vrem totul deodata și fără efort
    Omul e obișnuit să creadă că tot schimbă foaia
    Mereu agitat, se precipită ca ploaia
    Și daca-l întrebi, zice că așa vrea să fie
    Dar degeaba știe ce vrea, dacă nu vrea să știe

    Diferite situații, aceleași stări
    Toți vrem răspunsuri, dar nimeni nu-și mai pune întrebări
    Bombardați cu înformații, ne pierdem printre cuvinte
    Toți vrem schimbare, dar nimeni nu vrea să se schimbe

     

    English Translation:

     

    Omu Gnom, Amid Words, 2016

     

    You are crazy, some say to me, yes, but I give words of wisdom
    Attention that someone, or your grandmother
    If you do not get involved, you do not understand what was said
    It’s like when you put grain, you know all at the BAC
    We were not born on this planet just to inhabit it
    We must find our way to see where we are heading
    What leaders we vote, what fools we follow
    What we actually do, and what top we climb up
    We wake up sometimes, but as if still asleep
    All at the same table, tired of eaters
    But each looks at a plate and it’s kind of sad,
    When you see a man confused as racist dog
    You see what you have in your house, before you look out the window
    Sometimes I think that we are all against ourselves

    When in fact, we are all the same
    And the whole trick, is that harmony saves Romania
    Diferite situații, aceleași stări
    Toți vrem răspunsuri, dar nimeni nu-și mai pune întrebări
    Bombardați cu înformații, ne pierdem printre cuvinte
    Toți vrem schimbare, dar nimeni nu vrea să se schimbe

    Different situations, same states
    We all want answers, but nobody are raising questions
    Bombarded with information, we get lost amid words
    Everyone wants change, but nobody wants to change
    I can talk to you more about this and that
    But you’re your own change, you are the master and tool
    Be patient with yourself, look for yourself, find yourself
    Discover yourself, enjoy yourself, relax
    These are empty words if you do not turn them into facts
    In theory it seems easy, while practically all seem hard
    All that till you start, then you find help at every new step
    You’re tired of spinning round and round like a compass,
    You must have faith in a better world, be spiritual,
    Does not matter you are atheist, Christian or Muslim
    We must do something, they taught us more badly than anything
    That we want it all at once and effortlessly
    Man is accustomed to believe that everything changes sheet
    Always restless, precipitates as rain
    And if you ask him, he says it wants to be
    But in vain he knows what he wants, if he does not want to know
    Different situations, same states We all want answers, but nobody asking questions Bombarded with information, we get lost amid words Everyone wants change, but nobody wants to change

  • Presa Diretta/ A piedi per Bucarest sulle tracce di mondi paralleli

    Presa Diretta/ A piedi per Bucarest sulle tracce di mondi paralleli


    “Imi place foarte mult sa ma plimb prin Bucuresti, am avut o perioada in care am mers foarte mult pe jos si mi-am dat seama ca Bucurestiul are o arhitectura extraordinara ce trebuie pusa in evidenta. Sunt o gramada de zone faine, mai ales in zonele dintre cartiere si centru.”

    Omu Gnom

     

    Chi crede nel potere della serendipity e può permettersi il lusso di camminare senza meta, dovrebbe scegliere Bucarest: qui è facile che la musica del caso porti a scoprire qualcosa di insolito e interessante appena girato l’angolo e perfino suggerire la follia di un volo nel tempo.

    Suggestioni musicali

    Una volta partiti alla scoperta delle strade di Bucarest e allertati riguardo il dissesto cronico della maggior parte dei marciapiedi, non resta che lanciare lo sguardo attorno alla ricerca di indizi. Uno tra tanti, per esempio, camminando lungo Boulevard Dacia: l’insegna di un piccolo museo che, come il teatro in Bulevard Magheru, è dedicato a un Nottara: non c’è tempo di dare un’occhiata dentro? Se ne prende nota e, dopo aver controllato online in un secondo tempo, si è scoperto un nuovo brano di grande fascino: Siciliana, composta da Constantin C., figlio dell’attore Constantin I. Nottara.  Chi si orienta verso il centro città può quindi fermarsi a osservare la placida eleganza che emanano le ville d’epoca che contornano il parco Ioanid, la maggior parte delle quali ospita oggi sedi diplomatiche; si rimane a immaginare quanti segreti quelle raffinate finestre e giardini hanno custodito sin dalla loro prima apparizione nella mappa urbana.

    Demolizioni

    Chi prende la direzione opposta o imbocca una strada secondaria – non importa quale – può finire per costeggiare una recinzione  arrugginita che racchiude un giardino incolto che a sua volta nasconde una villa ormai fatiscente. Gran parte di questi edifici appartiene a un sofisticato e – in modo curiosamente inaspettato per molti rumeni,  nostalgico tempo svanito per sempre. Con uno sforzo di immaginazione – ed ecco il volo nel passato – è possibile contemplare quello che, mezzo secolo prima, deve essere stata una residenza aristocratica con ornate finestre, ferri battuti finemente lavorati, vetrate di un giardino di inverno… Per queste antiche dimore le datazioni più recenti risalgono al periodo interbellico. All’indomani della Seconda Guerra Mondiale, i nuovi padroni comunisti hanno proceduto a distruggere in modo metodico quanto più possibile dei simboli appartenenti alle passate elite: dagli aspetti intangibili come status sociale e stili di vita, alla eliminazione materiale dei loro spazi vitali, nel tentativo estremo di sradicarne memoria dal tessuto urbano. Lo spirito delle cose tuttavia tenace resiste mentre la storia non cessa di ripetersi. Questa volta tuttavia non è un’ideologia che minaccia di spazzare via quel che sopravvive dell’antico patrimonio immobiliare, quanto la mentalità corrente del divenire ricchi e in fretta. Mentre con buon senno si può sostenere che un numero significativo di questi edifici storici potrebbe essere conservato e rivitalizzato con opere di consolidazione, troppo spesso i proprietari preferiscono non far nulla e lasciare che il caos prevalga fin quando, per motivi di sicurezza, si è autorizzati a radere tutto al suolo e finalmente innalzare alti palazzi di ben superiore remunerabilità.  Nel corso dell’ultimo decennio il centro storico di Lipscani è stato sottoposto a un massiccio sforzo di ristrutturazione che non sempre ha preservato il fascino dei luoghi originari.

    Paradossi democratici

    Allontanandosi dal centro è facile imbattersi in edifici che riservano sorprese. Nascosti dietro assi di legno e quel che resta di vecchie recinzioni in elegante ferro battuto, sembrano sul punto di essere riassorbiti nel nulla del caos. A una seconda più attenta occhiata però, queste dimore in apparente stato di totale abbandono rivelano che no, non sono affatto abbandonate ma come conchiglie di mare hanno piuttosto finito per ospitare una tipologia del tutto differente di occupanti. Spesso sono di etnia rom. Non avendo nessun altro luogo in cui stare si sono accampati là, almeno fino a quando le autorità locali non intervengono per conto dei legittimi proprietari che, dopo decenni di dispute legali, al momento opportuno, vogliono vedere riconosciuti i propri diritti. L’occupazione di case disabitate da parte dei rom dè un fenomeno dell’era post Ceausescu. Allora le comunità rom erano forzatamente integrate nel tessuto sociale, sia attraverso l’obbligo di lavorare pena l’incarcerazione, sia per l’assegnazione di alloggi nei medesimi bloc fianco a fianco con gli altri cittadini rumeni. Dopo la caduta del regime, quel fragile equilibrio sociale è andato infranto e tutti i successivi governi democraticamente eletti hanno fallito in modo costante nell’elaborare una politica di inclusione sociale, innescando, al contrario,  ondate successive di discriminazione razziale verso i cittadini di etnia rom. Torniamo ora alla scena sulla strada. La presenza degli tzigani si intuisce dalla presenza della variopinta infilata di panni appesi ad asciugare al sole su fili passanti, oppure dai rapidi movimenti percepibili oltre le palizzate: mocciosi che copiano i più grandicelli che a loro volta si destreggiano con palloni e altro, giovani donne che parlano tra loro, donne più anziane in accappatoio di ciniglia che spazzano stancamente cortili polverosi – una modalità e un rito che ricorda quello delle casalinghe gadji, prova tangibile che sì, tutto il mondo è paese. E’ probabile che, a capitare qui nei fine settimana, la scena risulti arricchita dagli arabeschi sonori delle manele, musica molto popolare tra i rom e poco amata dalla maggioranza dei cittadini rumeni. Dal nulla, quasi per magia salirebbero al cielo questi ritmi carichi di vitalità, ovvero per allaccio abusivo a fonti di alimentazione elettrica in un vicinato non meglio identificato.

    I cittadini vogliono essere informati

    Ci si lascia alle spalle questo strato di vita urbana per riprendere a camminare lungo una strada tipicamente assediata da parcheggio selvaggio: non soltanto spesso i marciapiedi sono pieni di buche e dislivelli ma anche resi del tutto inaccessibili. Per procedere l’unica possibilità rimane quella di scendere lungo la carreggiata e camminare a un soffio dal flusso di auto che circolano tanto più veloci e prepotenti quanto più la cilindrata aumenta. Ancora qualche passo e ci si trova di fronte alla piacevole sorpresa di un edificio art nouveau. Qui una giovane giornalista armeggia col microfono ed è quasi pronta di fronte a una telecamera TV piazzata sul trepiedi. C’è aria di attesa, qualche personaggio noto uscirà da un momento all’altro dall’ufficio del suo avvocato, come suggerisce l’elegante placca di bronzo posta a lato del portone. I cittadini vogliono sapere: che si tratti di un calciatore che sta firmando con una nuova squadra, di una soubrette che ha siglato le carte del terzo divorzio, del politico accusato di plagio per un titolo universitario oppure coinvolto nell’ennesimo scandalo di mazzette e corruzione. Osservando la compostezza della troupe televisiva lambita dal traffico, come non trovare confermata la nozione del mondo come teatro, qui a Bucarest soltanto un po’ più assediato dal rischio?

    Strada Eternità

    Le sorprese continuano anche spingendosi oltre, verso quartieri sempre più periferici, per esempio verso Est, Colentina o Pantelimon. Là, su ciascun lato dei vialoni si è sovrastati da giganteschi caseggiati di dieci piani che si susseguono senza soluzione di continuità, quelli che nei paesi dell’Europa dell’Est chiamano bloc. Ormai lontani dagli angoli pittoreschi dei quartieri vecchi, la ricerca di indizi utili per comprendere più a fondo il respiro nascosto della grande città si appunta su dettagli minimi: nelle icone custodite nelle oasi di preghiera di chiese ortodosse inglobate tra i caseggiati,  nella quiete surreale che aleggia sulle tombe di coloro che riposano in pace nei cimiteri a due passi dai bloc dei viventi, nella bizzarria del nome di una via che collega la città dei vivi con quella dei morti: Strada Eternitatii, Strada Eternità presso cimitir Progresul 2 in un altro settore della città…

    Il rapper e io

    Per questa volta la passeggiata si conclude e si fa ritorno alla base. Neanche qui però la serendipity smette di operare: controllando fatti e informazioni online si scopre che  Omu Gnom, un giovane rapper underground nato e cresciuto nel quartiere di Bucarest Ovest Drumul Taberei, insospettabile di indulgere nel pittoresco come si potrebbe nel caso di un’espatriata di mezza età, considera il camminare per le strade di Bucarest un’esperienza unica. Tutto torna se si considera che i mondi paralleli di Bucharest non finiscono mai di sovrapporsi e di ricombinarsi in modo ogni volta inaspettato.

     

    • Bucharest, serendipity on sale in strada Academiei
    • Bulevardul Regina Elisabeta, pop art on the go
    • Bucharest is a mine of architectural styles, at times with an edge
    • A balcony for two
    • Bulevardul Protopopescu, how many stories buried inside there?
    • Chaos prevailing
    • Bucharest, corner of strada Academiei, Modernist building
    • Glass is a recurrent and often invasive element in new buildings
    • Architectural clashes reflected
    • Piata Iancului backyard, Typical ten-storey bloc
    • Colentina area, Cimiterul Reinvierea, the dead resting amid the blocs
  • Storie Vere/ Ce l’hai mica una sigaretta?

    Storie Vere/ Ce l’hai mica una sigaretta?

    di Sergio Dalla Ca’ di Dio

     

    La responsabile dell’Ufficio Atti di Identità mi scruta come se avesse davanti un marziano. “Come? Vive in canale?”. Il mio sguardo è altrettanto stupito. Non dico niente ma i miei occhi tradiscono un “Mi prende in giro?”. In una città dove più di 2000 persone vivono in strada, dove tutte le mattine più o meno da ogni tombino che porta alle condutture dell’acqua calda esce un ragazzo o una ragazza assonnato e con il sacchetto di colla in mano, quella domanda mi risulta a metà tra la presa in giro e lo “Scusi, sono naufragata su un’isola deserta e rimasta là per quarant’anni, sono appena tornata”.

    Detto da una funzionaria della polizia è ancora più snervante. Cerco di tirare fuori il mio lato diplomatico ma mi rendo conto che prevale il sarcasmo: “Signora, capisco che forse non se ne sia mai accorta, ma qui, a Bucarest, è pieno di persone che non hanno una casa. Qualcuno occupa appartamenti in centro, qualcun altro si rifugia nei canali. Sa, d’inverno la notte è fredda, rimanere in strada non è molto salutare”.

    Col senno di poi non è stata la scelta migliore. Già parlare di persone in strada, quindi “portare alla luce il problema” e non ignorarlo come fa la maggior parte delle persone, mi rende poco simpatico; ad aggravare il tutto, parlo con spiccato accento italiano condito di errori di grammatica, sono vestito da allenamenti di calcio (li abbiamo fatti stamattina presto) e, ancora sudato, sono piombato qui alla sezione di polizia in compagnia di un ragazzo senza un piede, malvestito e sporco – “un boschettaro”, direbbe la maggior parte della gente – per chiedere di fargli un documento di identità! Credo mi abbiano preso per matto. O molto, molto stupido. I. mi guarda e scuote la testa come a dire “Lo sapevo che finiva così”. La mia frustrazione aumenta. Siamo quasi coetanei, anche se sembra mio padre in quanto a età dimostrata. Non ho mai capito come ha perso il piede, tutti dicono che è sempre stato così da quando l’hanno conosciuto. Però mi ha sempre stupito la velocità con cui riesce a muoversi quando ha una meta da raggiungere; a volte non solo tiene il mio passo, ma mi sembra rallentare apposta per non stancarmi troppo. Non ho nemmeno ben capito quante mogli, fidanzate e figli abbia sparsi per la città. Nelle quattro volte che abbiamo girato in auto per uffici e questioni burocratiche, me ne ha indicate almeno cinque diverse, tutte nevasta, sotia, prietena o femeia (moglie, fidanzata o “donna”, nel senso più intimo del termine), e tutte con copil a seguito, ovvero col bambino. Dò per scontato che intenda dire che sono tutti figli suoi. Quello che so per certo è che I. in strada ci ha passato quasi tutta la vita, trentaquattro anni. Prima in orfanotrofio, poi in canale. “Mai avuto un documento”, dice. Non so se credergli. “E il certificato di nascita l’ho perso”. A questo credo. So bene però che la carta di identità non ce l’ha. Che l’abbia persa o non l’abbia mai avuta, poco cambia: senza carta di identità sei un perfetto Signor Nessuno e diventa impossibile ottenere visite mediche, farmaci, pensioni di handicap, un lavoro.

    Soprattutto però, per emettere una carta di identità serve un domicilio, che va dimostrato con qualche altro documento: un contratto di affitto, una bolletta e senza il domicilio nessuno ti fa nulla.

    “E io come faccio a essere sicura che lui sta proprio dentro quel canale ?”.

    La frustrazione si riappropria di me. Cerco di non cedere di nuovo al sarcasmo. “Signora, se può prendersi dieci minuti la accompagno in macchina e scendiamo insieme in canale, così vede il materasso, la coperta e il sacchetto di colla che ha usato ieri sera prima di addormentarsi”. Vorrebbe suonare collaborativo, risulta quasi una sfida. La signora inizia a prendere scuse. Su un pezzo di carta ci scarabocchia un nome, il suo ‘superiore’, e ci dice di tornare l’indomani e parlarne con lui. Protesto, protestiamo, con tono civile ma fermo, in realtà poco cambia. Rassegnati, ci prepariamo a riaffrontare le stesse discussioni e le stesse domande piene di stupore anche l’indomani mattina. La fortuna però a volte non si trova dietro l’angolo ma dietro la porta.

    Il poliziotto di quartiere entra mentre noi stiamo raccogliendo le foto e le scartoffie che abbiamo compilato per inoltrare la domanda. Guardo la dichiarazione firmata che attesta che “I. è un beneficiario di Parada da dieci anni”: il naso rosso della carta intestata risulta ancora più beffardo davanti agli impiegati così seri e impettiti nello svolgere il loro lavoro.

    “Ciao I., cosa ci fai qui?” domanda il poliziotto. I. sorride e spiega il motivo della nostra visita. Lui guarda la responsabile e dice “Ma io lo conosco da almeno 15 anni I.! è sempre stato lì al canale davanti all’ospedale. Sapesse quante sigarette mi ha scroccato…”

    Scoppio in una risata che mette fine a ogni possibilità di amicizia con la responsabile dell’ufficio, ma so bene cosa significhi portare la croce dell’essere fumatore e incontrare un ragazzo di strada: ho visto persone consumare interi pacchetti appena varcata la soglia del Centro Diurno di Parada. Non faccio in tempo a pensare, come faccio sempre quando vedo fumatori perdere decine di sigarette, “per fortuna ho smesso”, che il poliziotto si offre di firmare a sua volta una dichiarazione che dice che I. vive proprio in quel canale. Penso: “giusto: in fin dei conti, quella è casa sua da quindici anni”. Mi auto-rispondo: “ma come diavolo posso accettare di chiamare ‘casa’ un canale?” E qui rimango sempre senza risposta. La voce della signora mi risveglia dalla mia discussione privata. è esasperata. “Ritornate domani a ritirare la carta di identità!” I. sorride, il poliziotto anche, io ringrazio tutti, la signora e il poliziotto. La signora mi guarda come a dire ‘ma chi te lo fa fare’.

    Il poliziotto è già fuori. I. mi abbraccia e mi ringrazia. Poi ringrazia il poliziotto. Con molto trasporto. Il poliziotto ha lo sguardo buono. Gli stringe forte la mano e gli dice di fare il bravo. “Certo capo, ci mancherebbe. Ci vediamo presto”. Ci avviamo alla macchina. I. ha il passo svelto con l’unico piede che si muove a velocità doppia. Si ferma all’improvviso e torna indietro di tre passi. “Capo, Capo!”. Il poliziotto si gira: “Si, I.?”.

    “Ce l’hai mica una sigaretta?”.

    Per fortuna ho smesso.

  • Incontri in città/ Ion Barladeanu

    Incontri in città/ Ion Barladeanu

    Incontro Ion Bârlădeanu a Bucarest in un’assolata e semideserta domenica di luglio. Nella spoglia vetrina della galleria della “Uniunea Artiștilor Plastici din Romania” campeggia un poster con suoi collages. Penso, magari ora lo trovo qui. Abbasso la maniglia, la porta si apre e al centro della sala vuota c’è lui seduto accanto alle sue inseparabili riviste. Mi presento, gli spiego che è da tempo che desidero incontrarlo. Nasce un piacevole dialogo che si protrae per circa un’ora poi ci diamo appuntamento per il giorno seguente, lì, alla stessa ora. Tornerò con la macchina fotografica: “La aspetto, sono uno di parola”. Mi saluta con un baciamano.

     

    Storia di Ion B 

    Ion nasce a Zapodeni, nella regione storica della Moldavia nel marzo 1946. Ion ha un ricordo positivo della sua infanzia: costruiva maschere di carnevale, pezzi degli scacchi, cestini con foglie di mais, intagliava pistole giocattolo. Poi frequenta una scuola professionale dove impara a disegnare. Suo padre, un membro attivo del partito comunista locale, desidera per lui un lavoro all’interno del sistema ma a vent’anni Ion fugge di casa. Da ora in avanti cambierà infiniti mestieri: stagnino, portuale a Costanza, sagrestano, taglialegna, guardiano e operaio non specializzato nel cantiere dei cantieri alla Casa Poporului. A Bucarest finisce anche in carcere per qualche giorno colpevole di non avere una regolare occupazione. Viene inquisito anche Vaslui per comportamento anti comunista, non avendo mai fatto pace col padre. Dopo la caduta del regime nel 1989 non avere un impiego regolare non è più un reato e Ion diventa un boschetar, termine locale per senzatetto. Finisce per accamparsi nel vano immondizia di un bloc di Calea Moșilor, dove sopravvive facendo servizi e lavoretti per gli abitanti del caseggiato. Nell’arco di trent’anni ha continuato a raccogliere e ritagliare riviste per poi incollarle e creare i suoi collages. 

    Il successo per lui arriva inaspettato nel dicembre 2007, quando l’artista Ovidiu Feneș segnala Bârlădeanu al gallerista Dan Popescu. Nel giro di pochi mesi per Ion le cose cambiano, come racconta In Lumea vezuta de Ion B. (“Il mondo visto da Ion B.”), il documentario di Alexander Nanau vincitore di un Grammy Award nel 2010. I collages vengono esposti dapprima a Bucarest, poi a Basilea, Londra e Parigi. 

     

    Il regista di collages

    “Sono un film-maker!”, riassume con un curioso miscuglio di ironia e solennità, con una precisazione: “cioè ora sono un regista mondiale con le forbici!” Muovendo da un talento innato per il disegno e dal desiderio di diventare regista o attore, Ion crea un mondo immaginario “proto-pop”, anticipando cioè l’avvento della cultura portata dalla società dei consumi dopo la fine dell’era Ceausescu. Parlare di Arte è in parte una forzatura: per trent’anni i collages hanno rappresentato per Ion una forma di un’auto-terapia. Con risorse minime, i suoi fotogrammi creano un ibrido che combina pop art e surrealismo dada capace di generare una potente narrazione. Le sue opere suscitano meraviglia, ironia e malinconia: le grandi star del cinema e le etichette del consumismo occidentale vengono inserite in contesti narrativi di cronaca locale e vi campeggiano come icone di libertà nel cupo clima da gulag comunista. “Tra i miei attori internazionali preferiti metto  Liz Taylor, Ursula Andress, Silvia Coscina, Orson Welles, Peter O’Tool, Clint Eastwood, Marcello Mastroianni.” Le forbici di Ion hanno riscritto i fatti a suo piacimento, a cominciare dagli attori nazionali Nicolae ed Elena Ceaușescu: nelle sue mani la realtà si scompone e ricompone in infiniti e audaci mondi possibili. Non a caso “Realpolitik” è il titolo della sua prima mostra personale organizzata da Dan Popescu della Galleria H’Art. Anche i collages più recenti conservano una dimensione onirica e straniante e raccontano le assurdità del presente: “la Romania si è liberata da un dittatore che era come un lupo sazio per ritrovarsi ora assediata da un branco di cani affamati”.

     

    Il successo, le critiche, la vita

    C’è una foto che ritrae Ion su un divano accanto ad Angelina Jolie: vero, da ragazzo avrebbe voluto fare l’attore ma la vita gli ha riservato tutta un’altra storia e colui che parla con la radiosa signora Pitt  lo fa nel bizzarro ruolo di regista di collage. Davvero un miracolo che sia giunto a posare col suo malinconico sorriso a fianco della bella Angelina. Nonostante le veementi critiche di alcuni intellettuali locali che classificano il fenomeno Ion B. come l’ennesimo caso di scandalosa montatura mediatica e cinico sfruttamento di un ingenuo da parte dell’industria dell’arte, colpisce in questo anziano ex clochard l’intimo senso di dignità e il senso di un’innata appartenenza al nobile mondo dell’arte: nessuno può dubitarne.

    In più, l’aver vissuto in strada ai margini della società  sembra averlo vaccinato dai capricci del successo e dalle tentazioni del denaro. Ne ho la conferma quando, tornata a trovarlo il lunedì successivo, camminiamo lungo Magheru verso la galleria H’Art. Di fronte a Carturești incontriamo uno spazzino che lo saluta caloroso: Ion si ferma a scambiare qualche battuta con lui, con i suoi occhi tristi che provano a sorridere.

    Saliamo all’ultimo piano del palazzo anni Quaranta in Dionise Lupu dove ha sede la Galleria. Ci accoglie il proprietario Dan Popescu, poi è Ion a mostrarmi le opere in esposizione: “sono di Codruța Cernea, un’artista giovane, come la maggior parte  degli artisti di questa galleria. Per tutti loro io sono una specie di vecchio zio.”  

    Ci spostiamo sul  terrazzo che si affaccia sulla città, senza parlare va ad appoggiarsi alla balaustra per meglio osservare i tetti di Bucarest e quasi parlando a sé stesso aggiunge: “le opere di un artista valgono fino a dieci volte di più quando è morto. Ora sono un uomo conosciuto, senza problemi economici e soprattutto totalmente libero ma che cosa me ne faccio di tutto questo? Troppo tardi ormai, gli anni della giovinezza se ne sono andati per non ritornare più.” 

     

     

    Postscript (Appunti per un prossimo post)

    Parlando con Ion Bârlădeanu mi sono accorta quanto l’immaginario cinematografico sia materia viva per il popolo rumeno. Come non collocare la sua carriera di ”regista di collages” nella galleria dei mestieri surreali generata dalle molteplici forme di resistenza umana al regime di Ceausescu. Subito mi viene in mente il mestiere de “La Voce”, entità quasi astratta dietro la quale per tutti gli anni Ottanta si è nascosta  Irina Nistor, la visionaria e coraggiosa traduttrice impiegata della TV di Stato che ha doppiato da sola in clandestinità oltre 3000 film vietati dal regime, ruoli maschili inclusi. Mentre la gente si chiedeva perché tutti i film fossero doppiati dalla stessa voce, le sono stati profondamente grati per averli aiutati a non mollare mai. Non è un caso che la voce di Irina sia ancora la voce più conosciuta in Romania, dopo quella di Ceaușescu (Chuck Norris Vs Communism)

     

    Documentario di Andy Platon

    Documentario Lumea Vezuta de Ion B. di Alexander Nanau

    • Talking with a street cleaner
    • “What shall I make of my freedom now? It has come too late”
    • Ion is felt as an old uncle by young Romanian artists
    • Ion chose collages as an instinctive form of self-therapy
    • Ion Bârlădeanu with Sever Petrovici-Popescu, Bucharest, July 2016
    • Ion loves to collect hats
    • Talking with Ion Barladeanu
    • Ion B. with Dan Popescu
    • Ion B. with Angelina Jolie

  • Story – Despre Smerenie, About Humility. And Pride

    Story – Despre Smerenie, About Humility. And Pride

    Romania through the prism of a  video. On last April 7, Dan Teodorescu released online  his song Despre Smerenie (About Humility): the video soon went viral and triggered a national-scale debate, both online and offline, to the point that people’s responses provide clues as to the range of mentalities coexisting in today’s Romanian society.

    The Song, the Singer and the Friends

    Azi-noapte am avut un vis (Last night I had a dream)/ Catedrala Mântuirii Neamului Românesc era gata (the cathedral had been finished)/ Iar eu… m-am dus la catedrală, de dimineaţă, să-l caut pe Dumnezeu“(And so I went to the cathedral in the morning, to seek God…).

    Singer, songwriter and Taxi band leader Teodorescu uses the pretext of a dream to suggest the idea that God is more likely to dwell in intimate spaces rather than in extra-large Cathedrals.  Reference is made to the construction of the People’s Salvation Cathedral in Bucharest. The former engineer and teacher is not new to this kind of controversial performances. Taxi band leader for more than sixteen years, Teodorescu is perceived as an engagé artist, active in raising social awareness in a range of issues permeating different aspects of contemporary Romania; he belongs to the civil society currently engaged in promoting critical thought in a country still in search of its post-communism identity. No doubt responses to his work have always been varied. Nuanced criticisms – dismissing him alternatively as naive, pretentious, over sophisticated, politically correct or simply boring, have always been coexisting with stern appreciation and enduring support. The general impression is that he is aware of playing a kind of Jiminy Cricket’s role in a society where mass consumerism models, corruption and nationalistic pride conjure up to keep the leverage of power.

    Dan Teodorescu, Taxi band leader. In 2014 they celebrated 15 years of activity
    Dan Teodorescu, Taxi band leader. In 2014 they celebrated 15 years of activity

    This time his song  Despre Smerenie touches a very delicate point in individual and collective consciences:  the impalpable sense of christian humility. Like he often does to better convey his messages, he has  invited some famous “friends” – 34 celebs – to repeat after him the refrain “Dumnezeu preferă lemnul si spaţiile mici” (God prefers wood and small places).

    This chorus of sort is composed by a gallery of Romanian opinion leaders such as writers, actors, cooks, singers, journalists, intellectuals, each belonging to different background and generations:

    Dan Bittman, Cornel Ilie, Monica Anghel, Virgil Ianțu, Andi Vasluianu, Dorina Chiriac, Ștefan Bănică, Robin Proca, Andi Moisescu, Dani Oțil, Paula Chirilă, Horia Moculescu, Toni Grecu, Irina-Margareta Nistor, Dan Byron, Teo Trandafir, Oreste Teodorescu, Pavel Bartoș, Ada Milea, Călin Goia, Mircea Cărtărescu, Horia Vîrlan, Guess Who, Laura Lavric, Andreea Esca, Răzvan Simion, Alexandru Andrieș, Emilia Popescu, Grigore Leșe, Mircea Baniciu, Alexandra Ungureanu, Oana Pellea, Victor Rebengiuc.

     

    Thirty-four  Friends … Minus One

    In fact, the reception of the video did prove controversial to a point that one among such “friends” decided to step back from the project. Soon after the video was released and the unexpected wave of harsh criticism broke through, folk singer and performer Grigore Leşe announced his retreating  claiming that he had been somewhat fooled into it, not having been clearly told that the song aimed at criticizing the construction of Catedrala Mântuirii Neamului Românes. On his side, Taxi band published a comment on their Facebook page affirming that Leşe had had the opportunity to watch the video and know the lyrics in advance.

    Folk singer Grigore Leşe
    Folk singer Grigore Leşe

    As a result, Teodorescu decided to withdraw the video in respect of Grigore Leşe’s choice to pull back from the project. Still the band informed on their Facebook page that they would continue to believe in the project Despre Smerenie and that they would return with the new version of the video soon after Easter, with a variant where Mr Leşe would not appear.

    Teodorescu also declared that he regretted that he was not able to properly convey such a simple message. He strongly believes in God and his text was meant to be a parable, the lyrics underlining his spiritual approach. For him  God is to be found in a wooden church because he thinks God prefers simplicity and modesty – which does not mean that God can only be found in wooden churches… Teodorescu clarified that he had never intended to promote any petition against the construction of the Cathedral, but just chose to quote from the holy scriptures, his final message  only being that opulence and haughtiness have no connection with faith; had he wanted to launch a manifesto against the Cathedral – he observed – he would have taken action much sooner than now, before the construction commenced at all, and in a totally different form.

    Pride (and Concrete) for a Cathedral

    The controversial reference goes to the Catedrala Mântuirii Neamului Românes (Romanian People’s Salvation Cathedral). Currently under construction in Bucharest – 60% completed so far – it is located on the arsenal hill next to Palatul Poporului (Parliament’s Palace aka People’s Palace) and will be the patriarchal cathedral of the Romanian Orthodox Church, as well as the tallest orthodox christian church – about 125 meters high – in the world.

    The plan of the cathedral complex includes a cathedral building, a soup kitchen with capacity for 1,000, two hotels and parking for about 500 cars. Designed to seat approximately 6,000 worshipers, it is greater than tenfold the current patriarchal cathedral. To build the complex will be used 100,000 m³ of concrete, 45,000 tons of rigid armature and about 25,000 tons of flexible armature, ten times more than a ten-storey block. The complex is also designed to withstand earthquakes of 8.5 on the Richter scale.

    Bucharest, People's Salvation Cathedral rendering. It will be ten meters higher than People's Palace close by
    Bucharest, People’s Salvation Cathedral rendering. It will be ten meters higher than People’s Palace close by

    The Cathedral is built with money from donations and with financial support from the state budget. The total investment amounts to almost EUR 100 million, with EUR 45 million spent so far, which is more than half of the total costs. Official sources say that “an additional EUR 45 million would still be needed for the church. The project has been meeting a wide consensus among the Orthodox faithful who represent 86.45% of the Romanian population, according to the latest census (2011).

    While a real debate about pros and cons of such an impactful work has never gone public, over the last years many voices from the civil society – among them a number of NGOs –  have been heard criticizing  the project, claiming that public money should be invested in more strategic public sectors such as hospitals, schools and social housing.

    In fact, the idea to build a national cathedral dates back to more than a hundred twenty years ago, at the time of Carol I. A catholic himself, he  proposed it as a symbol of national unity and pride.  Yet the project had to be shelved due to lack of consensus on design, location and funding. Further attempts at implementing the idea followed in time but always ineffectually, due to historical events such as the 29′ crisis, WWII and – not least – the advent of the communist regime. It was finally, on 29 November 2007, that Patriarch Daniel of Romania could lay the foundation stone and give his blessing, consecrating the site at Arsenal Hill.

    Dragumiresti, Judetul Vaslui, Wooden Church
    Dragumiresti, Judetul Vaslui, Wooden Church

    Wave of Responses

    Father Vasile Bănescu, spokesman for the Romanian Patriarchy, expressed the official position of the Orthodox Church regarding the song and the video: even though not perceived as utterly anti-christian, they convey a message overtly against the Cathedral. Nor were more official words needed to comment on such a poor song with so little knowledge behind about the National Orthodox Cathedral project – expressing as it does only the artists’ preference for a certain kind of ecclesiastical architecture. Rather, the spokesman regretted that the National Cathedral project was still little known and a  lack of dialogue was part of the problem. The Patriarchy hopes that the personalities involved in this song and video are mature enough to accept a dialogue: while differences may arise,  the symbolic meaning of the edifice should be better understood. In fact, the suggestion is that the Cathedral is not meant to convey any message of humility – a virtue that is built over time inside each one’s heart – rather to bear witness to the dignity and identity of the Romanian Orthodox.

    Bucharest, October 2011, a Pilgrimage to the building site of Catedralei Mantuirii Neamului that will be dedicated to Sfântul Apostle Andrei (Saint Andrew), the apostle who first introduced Christianity in Romania
    Bucharest, October 2011, a Pilgrimage to the building site of Catedralei Mantuirii Neamului that will be dedicated to Sfântul Apostle Andrei (Saint Andrew), the apostle who first introduced Christianity in Romania

    Alongside the official position of the BOR (Biserica Ortodoxa Romana), an unexpected wave of different responses flooded the net: from harmless ironic parody of the song, like Despre sminţenie by comedian Valeriu Andriuţă, to more militant videos – one even showing a book by Mircea Cantarescu (a “friend” writer in the chorus) being burned.

    The unprecedented harsh reception of Teodorescu’s song made journalist Cristian Tudor Popescu – a usually lucid analyst of the contemporary Romanian society – express his opinion. Firstly, CTP found the song pathetic and not funny at all. He believes that the authors should have researched more on the subject before insisting so much on such a quite naive refrain. By expressing their preference for wooden churches as opposed to stone buildings, Teodorescu and his friends fail to consider a historical fact:  over the past centuries catholic Austro Hungarian rulers used to forbid  Romanian Orthodox to build stone churches, making them opt for smaller wooden ones. On the other hand, Popescu expresses his deep worry at the violent and disproportionate reactions of so many “faithful”, which reached alarming points of radicalization: “where are we heading to? Towards a Theocracy or a country led according to religious criteria?  Do we have some ayatollahs without turbans around here?” he cannot help wondering.

    Journalist Cristian Tudor Popescu
    Journalist Cristian Tudor Popescu

    Mircea Badea in his tv program on Antena3 In Gura Presei (In the Mouth of the Press) ends up criticizing Teodorescu posing as God’s spokesman communicating what God prefers, as well as the hypocrisy of many of the “friends” who while promote humility and modesty lead very opposite life styles. Another well known tv commentator Dragos Patraru on TVR1 Starea Natiei choses to dismiss video and song as a basically unnecessary exercise in pretentiousness and lack of commonsense.

    On the other side, supporters of Teodorescu’s song can be found also in somewhat alternative Orthodox environments. Father Savatie Bastovoi, a Moldovan Orthodox monk, poet and theologian did like the videoclip: “the fact that all these people, whom I knew were searching for God, finally found him in a small place, can only make me happy.” He also goes as far as suggesting that the great emphasis put on the importance of building a monumental Orthodox Cathedral paves the way to the actual realization of the Mosque project, following the first steps taken on last July with the Turkish government.

    In more general terms, Teodorescu’s supporters – mostly among NGOs activists and progressive environments – seem to appreciate his courage and claim that his is perhaps the most serious public debate about the Salvation Cathedral yet:  high time people expressed their views freely.

    Among the “friends” is folk singer Laura Lavric who declared to DC News: ” I answered Dan Teodorescu’s invitation with pleasure and I did not expect criticisms would reach such a controversial point. God can be found wherever you seek, both in a small church and in a large church. Those who comment and say that this song is an affront against the Church and against God, should think about the thefts of thousands euros that were made: that is the real sin before God. I do not think Dan Teodorescu brought any offense with his song. He did as he felt. I repeat, I would have never imagined that we could get this far! I do not think it is a mistake to express one’s deepest feelings. As a believer, I think God  can be found anywhere. But if it is a large church, I do not believe God wants opulence. It is not a manifesto against the People’s Salvation Cathedral. I repeat: I never imagined it could all  get this far. And know what, are we talking about churches? God can be found also in a corner of your very home.”

    Folk singer Laura Lavric
    Folk singer Laura Lavric

    “The message contained in this song is simple commonsense, I cannot believe that it triggered such harsh reactions”, declares Teo Trandafir, a well known show woman. Again, “commonsense” is the keyword everybody  use when commenting on this song but behind it a whole range of different attitudes and mentalities seem to coexist – at time, even conflict -, in today’s Romanian society.

    Welcome Side Effects

    Meantime, from the Patriarchy, a week ago Father Vasile Bănescu made a surprising announcement: “In the last few days, as a response to Despre Smerenie video, online donations to build the Cathedral have skyrocketed to 15 thousand Lei per day.”

    Bucharest, building site of the People's Salvation Cathedral, close to People's Palace, built by Ceausescu in the Eighties.
    Bucharest, building site of the People’s Salvation Cathedral, close to People’s Palace, built by Ceausescu in the Eighties.

     

     

     

  • My Take – Nicolae and Elena’s folded pajamas

    My Take – Nicolae and Elena’s folded pajamas

    I have recently had the opportunity to visit two highly symbolic scenes of the Romanian past finally open to public view. There I could take my fair share of snapshots but more than that ordinary booty, I came back home with the feeling that I had added two crucial pieces to my Romanian puzzle. This kind of connect-the-dots game has taken me first to Palatul Primaverii in Bucharest and then to the Muzeul Comunismului in Târgoviște, a town 80 kilometers (50 miles) northwest of the capital.

    Part One: Primaverii Palace, Bucharest

    The Primaverii (Spring) Palace opened its doors for the first time in March 12th, twenty-six years after the fall of the regime. It is the place where the Ceaușescus – Nicolae, Elena Ceaușescu and their offspring, Valentin (the only survivor of them all, living away from the limelight), Zoia and Nicu –  had resided since the mid-60s to the very last days of December 1989.

    Ten o’clock Saturday morning on March 19th, an official guide takes us – about fifteen visitors – through the Palace rooms. The tour, for the time being, is only available in Romanian. The guide is a young tall chap wearing a dark suit and looking on us with a disquietingly android look.  He seems programmed to flood us with information on irrelevant details about precious alabaster vases, Murano chandeliers, tapestry, indeed any single piece of decoration, furniture, artwork, steering well away from any form of historical information. Maybe the historical narrative is given for granted, as all my fellow visitors are locals: they are supposed to know the whole story already, no matter if among us there are also few millennials who had not even been born yet in 1989, someone must have told them something somehow.

    I really value the opportunity to roam this 80-room residence, which includes a cinema, a monumental swimming pool and an impressive dressing room, together with Romanian citizens. Through their very eyes I can experience the unveiling of a location kept hidden from them for so long and about which so much has been said and written about: the stories within the story.

    While we all keep on taking our pictures (“no flash, please!”) as freely as we wish, it does sound as a reversal of fortune of kind, considered that this has been the very place where lack of freedom had been theorized and in a way emanated, maybe – allow me this flight of fancy -, after being pondered upon in the course of a chess game or the projection of a movie in the cinema room downstairs. All along the tour, as the opulent details in Nicolae’s, Elena’s, Zoia’s, Nicu’s and Valentin’s apartments are continuously underlined by our mechanical guide, impossible for me not to tune in with my mates’ silent gloomy thoughts, maybe even stifled anger, but also – unexpectedly enough – a shared sense of human piety. At least this is my perception when we access the Ceaușescu couple’s bedroom. Here indeed everybody’s attention has been drawn to the bridal bed with its ingenuous (or ingenious?) set-up of Nicolae and Elena’s folded pajamas, each shown on its side of the bed (who informed the curators which side was whose?). In fact, considering all, the couple’s room appears essentially basic if elegantly furnished, “probably nothing near the posh layouts of today’s Romanian oligarchs’ villas”, starkly comment a middle-aged couple who has stopped to talk with me after the tour has finished.

    Part Two: Communism Museum, Târgoviște

    The official name of the museum is The metamorphoses of a place of memory. First opened in  September 2013, it operates as a unit of Curtea Domneasca Museum Complex of Târgoviște. Located in the  former military unit at Târgoviște Railway Station, is the place where the Ceaușescu couple spent their last two days, stood trail and were executed by a firing squad on Christmas Day, 1989 at 2:45 p.m. According to statistics, foreigners more than locals have been visiting it, which is in line with my personal account: some of our local friends were quite surprised at the idea that we had chosen to visit “that place” instead of the Curtea Domneasca, considering that Târgoviște is one of the most historical cities in the country  and the capital of Wallachia between the early 15th century and the 16th century.

    This time my visit is quite solitary, we are just my husband and I, and only after a while two other visitors (a cameraman and a photographer) happen to show up in the small museum. We have been asking directions  a couple of times in town, first to a photographer covering a social event in another public building, then to a cabman that condensed it all with a simple but effective phrase “Da, da, the place where boom! boom!” The guardian lady who sells us the tickets seems surprised to receive visitors on a rainy Sunday afternoon. It is unusually cold for being at the end of March, in fact our Catholic Easter Day. While observing the few rooms, the metal plates that Nicolae and Elena ate on, the beds where they slept, and the tiny improvised courtroom where they faced a hastily conducted trial before a special military tribunal, the place where they were fatally shot, I cannot help lingering on the infinite symmetries of chance: our visiting the place on an Easter Day, their being killed on a Christmas Day.  Also, with fresh memories of my recent visit to the Primaverii Palace, I find myself considering the abyss between that scene synonymous with power and glory and this scene, so soaked up in physical humidity as well as in a sense of human helplessness.

    So it is that I definitely choose to leave aside any attempt at any historical debate (revolution or a coup d’état etc.) to just absorb the deep magnetism of a place which for someone, at a certain point in time, has represented the final tragic scene of their human parable.

    • After more than twenty-six years, Palatul Primaverii open its doors
    • Manifest announcing the opening of the Palatul Primaverii, the official opening took place on March 12th 2016
    • Bucharest, visitors waiting admittance to Palatul Primaverii
    • Bucharest, Palatul Primaverii, main stairs
    • Palatul Primaverii, a cafeteria is also available inside the Palace.
    • Romanian citizens of all ages queued to visit the residential palace
    • Palatul Primaverii, the bridal bed
    • Elena’s shoes

     

     

    • Targoviste, entrance to the Muzeul Comunismului officially named The metamorphoses of a place of memory. First opened in September 2013, it operates as a unit of Curtea Domneasca Museum Complex of Târgoviște
    • The office of Colonel Andrei Kemenici, commander of the Military Base 01417. This room was chosen, in the morning of December 25th, as the place where the Ceaușescu couple were medically examined, a standard procedure, before the trial began
    • The historical debate (revolution or a coup d’état?) about the events of December 1989 who led to the fall of the Ceaușescu’s regime is still in progress
    • Chairs for the Ceaușescu couple in the courtroom.
    • The room chosen for the trial by the Exceptional Military Court seen from the perspective of Nicolae and Elena Ceaușescu. The ten-member tribunal (all military) was held on December 25th 1989, the trial was very brief, it lasted approximately an hour
    • A corner in the Chief of Staff’s Office, where the Ceaușescu couple spent their last three days and two nights.
    • The Chief of Staff’s Office, where the Ceaușescu couple spent their last four days and three nights, from the moment they were brought from Dambovita County’s Militia Inspectorate, in the evening of December 22nd, until the moment when they faced the trial and execution
    • The symbol of the Socialist Republic of Romania
    • Târgoviște, Muzeul Comunismului, the doorstep leading to the execution point
    • Târgoviște, Muzeul Comunismului, the door leading to the execution point
    • Târgoviște, Muzeul Comunismului, the sidewalk leading to the execution point
    • Târgoviște, Muzeul Comunismului, the execution wall from the perspective of the firing squad
    • Târgoviște, Muzeul Comunismului, the silhouettes of the executed bodies of Nicolae and Elena Ceaușescu
    • Târgoviște, Muzeul Comunismului, plaque on the execution point

     

     
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