twenty-something years of "what have you been up to?"

place2place

  • how to not think about the election

    Normally if I get a headache or have some pain, I take what Peter calls the placebo dose of Advil: one pill. I was taking the maximum dose, four pills every 6 hours and cheating and taking them every 5 and half hours, plus Tylenol in between and the pain was still so bad, I'd have to get out of bed and pace around the room, making the dog think I've lost something.

    I like to have my dentistry done in the U.S. by my cousin, who is my favorite dentist not because he is my cousin or because he is a dear, sweet man but because he was number one in his class.

    Then if I need a crown, I like to have my sister's lab make it, not only because she is my sister, but because hers is the crown I can't find in my mouth because it looks and feels so natural and beautiful.

    So I'm up all night, the president may or may not be re-elected, and I'm doing school, drawing and painting in the evenings, and doing four events at work in two days. Peter isn't here to arrange a dentalvac and clearly, I don't have time to go.

    Dr. Christina in the med unit has loaded me up, European-medicine style: medicine, a medicine to make the medicine not give me a stomach ache, a back-up medicine, a heavy duty-medicine, an antibiotic and an ointment. A full trick-or-treat bag of cures that don't help me sleep at night.

    I decide to see the Romanian dentist.

    She's nice and I like her name, Roxana Karin, and I'm kind of namist. The office is plain, but nice enough and it's clean. The instruments and equipment look just like at home, Dr. Karin wears gloves when she examines me. She does a panorama xray of my head and determines the potential problem tooth and then sends me out for another xray. I've never not just had bitewings taken at the dentist, but okay. I take a taxi across town.

    I visit an xray clinic that operates McDonalds-style. A white-scrubs-wearing person takes your order. You take a seat on a green plastic chair. In about five minutes they mispronounce your name.

    They lead-apron you up, take the xray and shoo you back to the green chairs. In two minutes they mispronounce your name again. You go to the counter pay 10 lei–3 dollars–and they hand you your xray in a to-go bag.

    I took a taxi back to the dentist where she decided I needed a root canal. When I told a friend I was going to a Romanian dentist for a root canal, he said, "Are you a Scotch drinker?"

    The worst part of the root canal was having to have to drive myself to an unfamiliar place at night–the appointment was at 8 pm. Dr. Karin did the procedure by herself, only using an assistant for about two minutes. She didn't suit up like I'm hazardous material in the way dentists normally do now, but she wore gloves and the assistant disinfected everything. Afterwards, she filled the tooth, no crown needed she said. 

    Obama continues to be our president and Peter got home from Albania. An hour after I arrived at the dentist, I walked out with a numb face, went home and slept all night. 

    The cost of the procedure: 200 lei, $75. Well, plus the $3 for the xray.

  • half in ruins. can i take it home?

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    A door going into the National University of Fine Arts in Bucharest, the inscription reads "Torture Chamber."

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    Half the buildings, which surround a tree-lined courtyard, have just had their guts torn out, awaiting renovation.

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    Easels, benches, broken pieces of glass, textile and ceramic projects and every other kind of unclaimed artwork have been dragged out of the building. You can imagine what a hard time I had not walking away with everything on the street.

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    On the renovated side of the courtyard, new windows, plaster and mosaics adorn the alma mater of Constantine Brancusi.

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    A few rough patches still show on the fixed-up side, but it's more than half way to beaux-arts beautiful. I wish I knew when they were getting rid of that door.

  • some people I met in romania

    Marian
    Doris
    Cristy (say it with a Romanian accent: Krrrrrreeeeeesti)

    All men.

  • what all the cool furniture is wearing

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    I'm mad they don't sell reproductions of these chairs they display at the Peasant Museum, because that's what I really want. But the strangely huge gift store does have piles and piles of vintage clothes, rugs, aprons, and anything else Romanians have ever woven or embroidered.

    Peasant piles


    Peasent lace

    Peasant also

    Usually once I'm in the store wanty-ness overwhelms me and after three hours of touching everything and totally disarranging the store, I'm sick to death of textiles and I leave without buying anything. But this time I had something in mind.

    The lastest Anthropologie catalog tells me this pom-pom fringe is exactly on trend: I think our piano bench really has the legs to pull it off.


    Peasant piano

  • summer swans, europeans rollers, egrets and cranes: not pictured

    Kingfisher comparison

    Professional photo of a kingfisher, left. On the right, a squirrel shaking its head? No, my photo of a kingfisher. Seriously. You can't even tell it's a bird.

    After our trip to the Danube Delta, home to over 300 species of birds and one of the best bird-watching places in the world, I have a new appreciation of bird photographers.

    Danube peter stef boat

    It's hella hard to get a good photo of a bird. However, I now know that herons cooperate better than kingfishers.

    Danube herons
    Danube church

    Danube monestary
    We took the bird-watching "party" boat out to visit nuns who live at the Saon monastery (shouldn't it be the Saon convent then?) They tend bees, ostriches and a flock of peacocks. They also sell honey, wine, candles and little wooden bracelets. And judging by the number of men hanging out with their shirts off in the sunshine, you can rent cottages and stay on the peaceful grounds. One young nun's family was visiting.

    Danube nun with family
    Danube nuns clothes
    Danube jigsaw puzzle house

    Danube peter on porch

    Our little group did not stay with the nuns. For $75 a night, we roughed it at the five star Delta Danube Resort.  We enjoyed the gorgeous pool and the dining room's large balcony with constant entertainment: great egrets circling and landing in the water below us and sunset and moonrise over the delta. When I close my eyes now, this is what I see.

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    The Danube Delta has been given World Heritage status. I think bird photographers deserve the same.

  • summer 2012 and ever

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  • summer log: 2012

    The other night over mind-blowing Thai food, we wracked our salmon curry-addled brains to remember the places we've stayed, people we've visited, the things that have defined the summers home for the last seven (7!) years.

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    Moon over the Napa River.

    We will remember this summer 2012 trip home because:

    We started in Paris with Grammie and stayed in that guy's apartment with the Jack Daniel's themed bathroom.

    We celebrated Stefan's birthday with an ice cream cake at Villa Aunt Valerie and Uncle Bob. We met 3 month old Tatum, and Jayne was 2 and Tyler was 4 and Natalie and Dave showed Peter a photo on their iPhone and said, "What's wrong with Natalie?" and it was an ultrasound photo of my newest family-member to be.

    Mike and Tanya let us move in, and Elliott was there finishing his first year of university and Stefan says he wants to go to U.C. Davis too.

    Mom and her bf drama.

    I went to North Carolina with four of my best friends I'd never been in the same room with all at once and we sang Jesus Take the Wheel.

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    I briefly visited my sister city of Seattle.

    We had a great time, as always, with the Palmers at their cabin in Tahoe, and I have the bruises to prove it.

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    Peter brushed his teeth with anti-itch cream and never felt better.

    The London Olympics, "Go Gabby!"

    At the Del Monte Shopping center, Camille helped Stefan pick out his first pair of glasses.

    Outlander. The most I've ever enjoyed reading 900-page novels entirely with a Sean Connery accent. Thank ye Emily for my latest addiction. Peter is going to love the kilt he's getting for Christmas.

    We stayed one night at a hotel with a bunch of bikers. In its defense, it did have free breakfast at Denny's. That was in Napa, where these photos were taken.

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  • and all i got was this dumb designer bracelet

    I thought the highlight of the day would be the Berte Morisot exhibit, but no, it was when Stefan found a Bulgari bracelet in front of Notre Dame.

    Or it was when Peter nearly kicked the guy who wouldn't get his feet out of this photo we were trying to take at the star in the very center of Paris. That's why Peter only has one foot in the photo–he was donkey-kicking a guy with the other foot. Also, since when do people put coins in the star?

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    Grammie walked an insole out her shoe. I think that's proof that we've sufficiently dragged her around Paris. More proof:

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    Camille and I got lost, but since then (read: wine) I've concluded that an hour lost in the 4th arrondissment is better than knowing where you are for days in some places.

    The highlight tomorrow is suppose to be the trip to the Eiffel tower for the boat ride on the Seine, but we'll see.

  • cerulean could be the new black

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    What's really funny about this sign is that no A2 highway leads to Constanta. Contrary to this sign's version of reality, the gorgeously paved 4-lane A2 highway to Constanta came to a screeching halt — and us along with it. We backtracked, on a narrow road through teeny villages where people sell peaches and nectarines from their gardens on the side of the road. They were good, too.

    The drive to our house on the Black Sea didn't take three and half hours, as Google tried to trick us into believing, it actually took five. But if it had taken 10 and I was still driving home, it would have been worth it.

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    When we got to the house we were welcomed by swallows, liden trees, and a wide open view of the sea. Five minutes down the road is the rightly, if cheesily named, Golden Sands beach. I guess they were trying to make up for the very poorly named Black Sea.

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    I understand Azure Sea or Cerulean Sea might have made them go overbudget. But they should have spent a little more money and not gone with basic Black. I know it's classic, but it sends the wrong message. Maybe they can get a refund and go with a different agency.

    Drive through Oregon-sized Romania to the California-sized Black Sea and tell me even Blue Sea wouldn't be a better name.

  • in romanian: tei, in bulgarian: lipa

    Right now, especially in the evening, Bucharest smells divine, like a $60 Diptyque candle.

    I open the doors and windows of the house to let the scent fill the house. I can't figure out what it is, it's everywhere, but nowhere particular.

    Last week I had a priest-beekeeper come to the embassy to sell honey. He brought huge jars of farm fresh acacia honey, which he sold for about $8. He told me soon he can bring other kinds of honey, depending on the bees, of course. He thinks the next variety will be "Tei tree, with the flowers." "Tea tree?" "Lime," he says. "But not lime the fruit." Google and I couldn't figure out what he was talking about. 

    When we got to our house on the Black Sea coast in Bulgaria the air smelled sweet and delicious. "It's the lime tree," said the propriator. "The Bulgarians are crazy for it. You'll see them picking it everywhere, to make tea and to bathe in. We call it Tilia,"  she said in her British accent. Okay, let me look that one up.

    Linden. Stefan made tea, Camille put the flowers in her bath (it's suppose to calm hysteria) and I'm just breathing the flower-scented air.

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