Category: From Peter

Somewhere between Moscow and Bucharest, our spare tire was stolen. I don't like to think ill of others so I won't accuse one or the other except to say that it was documented that I had one when the car was parked in Moscow and when it arrived here in Bucharest, it was documented that we didn't (have one). My first thought was to buy it back on ebay! But then it occurred to me that it would take up to 3-4 weeks and we are planning a trip through the Romanian back woods next week and a spare tire is better insurance than… actual insurance. If I were a gambling man, I'd bet the odds on a flat tire were greater than getting in an accident — but the truth is, you never know.

So I set out in search of a spare tire locally. I thought a used one would be the way to go, seeing as to how I hope never to use it. A week of inquiry all led to "no." My 1999 Toyota Land Cruiser is either too old for old parts or American and therefore too rare to find in Europe. Save your breath on the fact that they are all made in Japan. European ones are different.

Plan B  - look to buy a new one: Three tire stores I drove by did not have the ability to order me a rim. "Too old" they said. And a tire my size is about $328 (I paid $117/tire 3 years ago but they were on sale). Romanian Parliament just passed a law that demands that tires be rated for snow and mountain hazardous driving or you can receive a huge fine (someone knows someone in the tire business). So tires are expensive here and rims for an 11 year old car are near impossible to find.

Plan C – I drove to the Toyota dealer. Ciprian (pronounced "Chiprian") is a very nice guy. He works in the parts department there. His English is good and he is sympathetic to my cause. He believes the Gypsies had something to do with it. No! Actually, he says he knows the Gypsies had something to do with it. We spend an hour looking on line: There is a rim for my vehicle but it is listed as made for Toyota 2002 – 2008. Then it says in fine print that it will fit any Land Cruiser model and in parenthesis if says, (not to be used as a spare). We debate why this is so. I figure it has to do with the center opening which it seems to lack. This open center rim is essential to suspend the spare under the carriage. So what if we buy it and exchange it with the rim already on the truck and use the old rim as a spare? Ciprian is hesitant. Apparently refunding a part after buying it is the Acme of bureaucracy. "This is a 4 signature and stamp case," he informs me. In my case, it's more because I have my own government to deal with to get the VAT tax refunded.

I decide to gamble after all and order the rim. Now to finding a tire. We find one that is actually a reasonable price and turns out to be the very same tire that is already on my car. Excited prematurely, I urge him to order it. He calls the shop and informs me that they have it but may not be able to deliver it before 5PM when the Service station at the dealership closes. They are located across town and only have one delivery truck. Of course, I can go get it myself, but my work schedule is pretty booked on Fridays. So we decide I will go get it as soon as they open, drive it to the dealership, leave it there for them to see if the rim fits, mount the old tire on the new rim, place the new tire on the old rim, and mount the brand new spare under the car. 

The early morning did not go as planned. I knew it as soon as it started. I forgot my wallet when I walked to the bakery for croissants, a sure omen. I engaged a concierge service from the embassy that will do just about anything for a price. They called me back and informed me they found another similar tire a bit more expensive but far closer to our location. I agreed to let them buy it and deliver it to me. I then drove to the dealership. 

The truck was lifted on the rack and we stood around wondering if the rim would fit or not. Yes! It fits! But there was one little problem. The lug nuts that anchor the rim to the wheel are different. So if the spare is used, the old lug nuts must be saved to use. An important yet small sacrifice to have a spare. At close examination, the rims are different and "look! You need new brake pads!" 

At the end of the day, all patients were seen, although I was late, and I now own a spare I hope I never need. And the squeal I developed since driving in Romania from the brake indicators is also gone. Must have been the Gypsies!

The strangest thing happened to me on January 1st, 2011. We were out with my sister Helen walking the Kremlin and Red Square and on the way back, we wandered  through the old Arbat, in the light snow and over spots of ice.

We stopped at a grocery store and bought some bread and desert to add to our dinner. The sidewalk was slushy sloped down to the street, as though for wheelchair access (though I've never saw anyone in a wheelchair in Russia). My hands were carrying the bags and all of a sudden, my feet slipped out from under me and before I could try and even break my fall, I landed on my tailbone. 

I could see the heavey Nikon I had around my neck come right at me as though it were taking my picture. It bounced off my brow and landed up above my head, choking me by the strap. I lay there trying to figure out what was hapening in my lower back.

Helen asked me if I was all right and a young man came up and offered to help me up. "Just a second! Just a second!" I begged. "I need a few minutes to assess myself." My legs seemed to move fine and the pain that was in my low back seemed to be subsiding. The man again was coaxing me to stand up, assuring me it would be fine. "Alright then" I said, and he muscled me up to a standing position. 

Upright, my low back was sending strange signals. Definitely pain but with a strange added pressure, kind of a displacement, like the tingling when your foot falls alseep. My head was starting to swim and I felt swirly. I leaned forward and put my hands on my bent knees. "I don't feel so good. I think I'm going to pass out." And that is the last thing I remember. According to Helen, I fell from a leaning forward position strait down onto my face. A brief out of body experience, kind of warm and fuzzy ("And oh what a feeling when your soul goes through the cieling"). The next thing I knew, I could hear voices but I was completely disoriented.

Helen and a passerby were holding me and the ice below me felt good on my now throbbing butt. A militia man was talking on a radio and a stranger was running up with a chair (it turned out to be a parking attendant). They sat me up and I tried my best to compose myself. An ambulance was called and I was already trying to imagine myself walking back to the Embassy (about 3 blocks away). The kind woman who stopped to help was from the British Embassy and she was trying to convince me to walk with her to her Embassy, also fairly close by. I tried to request that the militia man cancel the ambulance but he said it was already on the way and that I should wait. I could always refuse once they checked me out. So I resigned myself to that. In truth, I really didn't feel so great and nausea was already coming on.

The ambulance arrived rather quickly with their flashing blue lights. A medical attendant approached me and asked me some questions. I explained what happened and that I did not hit my head. Silly I know, coming from someone who has blood dripping from his brow. He invited me into his ambulance and I complied. It was smoke filled. He did a mini neuro exam and I got him to chuckle. I eventually revealed that I was the healh provider from the American Embassy. 

He suggested I be taken to a hospital for evaluation. I declined, not wanting that experience. I told him I just needed to get home to the Embassy and he said he waould take us there. There were no seatbelts in the ambulance. He cleaned up my eye while they drove us home, no gloves or sterile dressings. I expected a request for payment but it cost me nothing. They dropped us off at the main gate, 200 feet from my apartment. 

I walked supported on Helen's arm. My low back seemed okay but my buttocks felt as though something was trying to cut through from the inside out. I made it to the couch and lay down. Nausea overcame me. Nothing sounded good to eat or drink. I lay there rather helplessly. Eventually I fell asleep and have been sore for the past couple of days. But the nausea went away, the pain has gotten better and the black eye swelling has gone down.

Everytime I look in the mirror, I am reminded of the cigarette commercial from the 70's, "Taraton smokers would rather fight than switch."

These past few days have really cleared up and everyone is commenting on how much better it is after the rains and breezes have cleared the air. Yesterday we could see patches of blue sky nestled in between puffy grey clouds and there is no longer a smokey smell in the air. 

The Embassy is buzzing with talk about when to call back the Authorized Departure (AD). Some are starting to request to come back and that is based on an individual case-by-case decision made by the Administration and Management. But from the health perspective, air quality is still poor when compared to "normal" (although much improved). People with respiratory sensitivities such as asthma, allergies, or poor pulmonary function are still quite vulnerable to breathing problems and respiratory distress. Because of the AD, our number of patients requiring urgent care was greatly reduced.

In the Health Unit, we are trying to prepare for the influx of mass arrival when the AD is lifted. Anytime newbies arrive to Post, there is always an adjustment period that causes a lot of stress: new schools, language barriers, cultural differences, and new stressors of adaptation. We can expect the need to provide a lot of support to new arrivals and their families. The unforeseeable air pollution could pose some additional health problems. The Administration understands this and are therefore reluctant to raise the AD at this time. I suspect another week or more before they do. I'll try to post pictures shortly.

We came out of the wilderness after camping for 4 days and I received the news of Moscow on fire. Hard to believe a city so vastly populated with people and gothic buildings could be covered in smoke. But the peat bogs to the south east burn out of control. The unprecedented temperatures have dried their tunnels and they burn unthreatened by water or flooding. The air quality has become so bad that the Embassy has called an authorized departure to all none essential personnel. But I must return and return I did.

Dina and the kids stay behind awaiting approval to return. My brother Mike drove me to the airport. As always, he cheers me up. He knows what's on my mind and he reassures me that things will be fine back home until I return some time I know not when.

I bought a cranberry muffin and a sandwich so as not to have to buy and eat that God awful food on the airplane. "United breaks guitars" is the theme song on my mind; "I've heard all your excuses and chased your wild gooses…" In mid flight, the woman next to me buys a fruit and yogurt parfait and eats it with a diet coke. I appreciate my turkey sandwich very much. A smooth flight gets me to Dulles a half hour early. 

As we boarded the transatlantic flight, I was surrounded by giggly Russian teenage girls wearing Bosco athletic wear. It's the Russian olympic synchronized swimming team. My seat was on the isle next to the window. A Russian girl looked very disappointed when I sat down next to her. She was hoping my spot would remain empty so that a friend could sit with her. It turned out, the two seats in front of us were empty and she moved to that space. After about an hour in flight, she turned back to me and asked if she had left her black blind fold in her seat pocket. I looked around and at first I didn't see anything. But then I saw something black and shiny on the floor. I nodded to her that I saw it and reached down only to pull up her black bra! I could see instant embarrassment on her face. I passed it to her between the seats to make it less visible and she quickly tucked it under her blanket and turned away. Poor thing. 

When we landed in Moscow, the visibility was only about a quarter of a mile. You could smell smoke as soon as you walked out of the threshold of the airplane. The temperature was mild in the low 70's. As we drove home, I could barely make out some of the landmark buildings. It seemed like a different place. 

The health unit is relatively quiet. Many people left but we are anticipating a mass influx when everybody returns. We cancelled all appointments and are only taking walk-ins. The smoke still permeates your clothes and eyes get teary and mildly irritated. Air quality levels are measured daily and are 1.3 times above normal and hazard levels are drifting down. We expect that it will continue to get better and authorized departure will be lifted in about 2-3 weeks. But the fires keep on smoldering in spite of all efforts to put them out.

I'm sitting in the the SF airport waiting to board a flight to Moscow via Atlanta/Paris. I've been home a month and had a terrific time. 

I have begun to slowly venture out in the car. We made a trip to our farmer's market and grocery store and yesterday I took our friend Aleen to a frame shop and another grocery store. It was nice since it was kind of rainy and I got a chance to check out the new GPS. 

As some of you know, I have a needle phobia. How embarassing is that? "Neener neener neener! The shot-giver can give it but he can't take it!" I have a history of getting overly anxious and passing out. I blame it all on my childhood dentist who was a shoemaker from Romania. He really did not change his profession very much. I have passed out numerous times since, gone to the light, and they tell me it isn't my time yet and I wake up (usually on the floor) feeling nauseous, sweating, and then throwing up with a splitting headache. "Sorry" always comes out between heaves. And there was that one time when I woke up with my pants down around my ankles with the needle still in my butt and the doctor's voice boomed out towards the nurses desk on the other side of the waiting room, "Nurse! He just fainted!" So much for patient confidentiality and the HIPAA laws.

Everytime we come home to the States, we end up renting a car, usually for a month. And everytime we do, we say we should buy a car and it will pay for itself. In fact, we wish we still had our old Saab. So I researched it and found one that looked great on craigslist. Dina and I drove down to the bay area and test drove it. It ran great and it looked ultra-clean. The seller was a Saab lover and and the price was right so we were sold. 

Given the heavy traffic, we decided to stay in SF and go to Cha Cha Cha's for dinner (one of our favorite Caribean food restaurants).  The check engine light came on but the car was running great without loss of power, temperature, or oil pressure. We drove it to Davis and had Mike's mechanic looked at it. He diagnosed an ignition sensor, cleaned it and told us it should be fine. Said otherwise the car looked fine.

We drove north to  Mt. Shasta, confident that the car ran fine. The engine light did come back on as before without other problems. We were so happy to be driving a Saab again. Then, after climbing a steep grade into Shasta, we took the exit to my sister's when all of a sudden, a very loud noise developed like a disel engine. All dashboard lights came on; the engine light flashed, an oil can appeared, and a red exclamation mark lit up! We drove it another 300 yards to my sister's house. No smoke. No loss of power. Just a very bad internal noise.

The following two days were filled with love, family, and friends who gathered to remember my father who recently passed away. There was Russian vodka and black caviar, homemade pickles, grilled lamb and delicious salads. We drank and remembered. My father would have been very happy.

The car was towed to a mechanic who diagnosed that we had blown the engine. It was a big blow, maybe more to us than the car. We felt violated in some way. But the car did get us to where we needed to be and all engine trouble aside, the car is in excellent condition. So we decided to bite the bullet and put in a used engine with low miles and warranty that will hopefully have a lot of life left in it.

"I remember the 1976, Bicenntenial 4th of July as particulary poignant; when mama brought a cake out to the patio for desert, someone (Vera Postovsky? Alex Jadan?) spontaneously started singing "Happy Birthday" and everyone joined in. By the time they got to "Happy Birthday dear America", this group of immigrants, each with their own story, there wasn't a dry eye among any of us (of course, the vodka probably helped)"  - my sister Ludmilla