In the run-up to thinking about packing...

With just weeks to go before I embark on my new life, preperations for the move are surprisingly tardy. Even rather elementary requirements, i.e. a place to live in our new country, have, as yet, been unfulfilled. But we remain blindly and naively hopeful that everything "will be alright".
This is not the first time I've upped sticks to a different European state but I can say with all honesty that the fears about this move are altogether different. People delight in regaling their stories (rarely first-hand) of rabid dogs, bare-footed orphans and blatant and widespread corruption, not to mention vampires. Before moving to France I was worried I'd be made to eat calf's brains (which I now know are delicious, of course!).
Occasionally people have spoken of the beauty of Romania (which I can attest to) but they are often sceptical as to whether this extends far enough down the Carpathians to the town of Buzău, which will be my home for the next three (or so) years. In response to this, I must say that esthetically-pleasing town-planning may not have been high on the list of priorities for the party big-wigs back in the day, but that living for three years respectively in Sheffield and in northern France does teach you to look beyond the surface.
However, the real sticking point is likely to be the isolation. I've been grappling with the Romanian language now for eight months. Although I'm making progress, I am nowhere near the level I had in French before crossing the channel five years ago, and will not be accompanied, like I was then, by other like-minded but equally clueless Brits for moral support, trips round Carrefour and drinks in the pub afterwards.
I will have my boyfriend, I suppose, who, despite being French, is pretty nice to have around most of the time.
And if he's really getting on my nerves, maybe I'll adopt one of those stray dogs....