One of the great things about Romania is the sense of community. People not only know who their neighbours are, but speak to them regularly. In many cases; this is what actually passes for entertainment – in the country nearly everyone has a small step or wooden bench outside their gate and will sit here in fine weather, watching the events on the street and waiting for people to come by and chat.
I have only recently discovered the joys of these chats, having been too afraid to speak to my neighbours as I presumed I would understand nothing of their conversations. When I did try, the latter did indeed turn out to be true, but my neighbours seem genuinely delighted, not to mention patient, with my incomplete sentences and inability to decipher more than the barebones of any conversation.
As such, I have met (and forgotten the names of) many more people on the street, which has a lot of benefits. They will help you with where to pay bills and find the items you're looking for. They'll collect your bin in after the binmen have been past, as well as your post (this week the two were combined as I found my empty bin back in our courtyard with our letters at the bottom of it!). Unfortunately they will also ask for favours in return, usually help in finding a job, which I, personally, cannot help with, although it is automatically assumed that I can.
In particular, one guy from up the street regular comes to the house calling "Monsieur, Monsieur", until the Malteaser goes out to talk to him. He wants to work for us, from what I understand, but each time we have to tell him we have no work for him. I'm not sure we could actually afford the rates. Recently another neighbour asked the Malteaser to work on the house as he was going door to door. Twenty minutes later we saw him again in the street – another neighbour had given him 30 lei to clean her carpet. 30 LEI FOR 15MINS WORK!?! That works out as £20 an hour! And yet minimum wage earners here get around £250 a month. No wonder the economy's in a mess with these crazy pricing structures.
Even so, 15 minutes of work a week, however well paid, is not enough to support somebody and there is no way you cannot feel the divide. "What you up to?" "Nothing, you?" "Well, just off down the shops to get a couple of new tops and then I thought I'd get my nails done"....you see my problem. I was actually about to say that I was on my way to the dentist's the other day (I'm still plagued by brown teeth, appointment tomorrow) when a woman walked past with a smile that'd give Shane McGowan a fright. In the end I just kept my mouth shut (pun only half intended).
My other appointment this week was to get a bikini wax. You can skip this part if you're of a nervous disposition. Needless to say it was an interesting experience, which took place in a first floor room that looked like someone's kitchen and had an overwhelming smell of gas. When I arrived the door was open and I was concerned that I was going to have to disrobe in view of everyone. However, after a very public consultation about what I wanted done (which can only be made more embarrassing by the fact that I'm now writing about it in a blog) the door was closed and I was lying on a slightly grubby table (where were the protective paper sheet things and the dolphin noises CD? Not that I was particularly worried. I don't believe, as many Romanian women seem to, that infectious diseases can be contracted through the buttocks. This is why I do not stand on toilet seats and squat over the porcelain in public restrooms, leaving muddy footprints behind on the seat for the next person to wipe off). I was also pleased to note that the use of neat alcohol is not restricted to barbers shops.
All I can say is that it smarts!
