Christmas in Romania

"O Tannenbaum" or “O brad frumous”:
Romania loves Christmas and celebrates it to the fullest. Bucharest is aglow with lights and ribbons and decorated trees throughout. The trees are hung with anything from wrapped boxes to stuffed animals. Massive garland is usually strung from top to bottom rather than ‘round and ‘round, some symmetrically and carefully laden, others more haphazard. Every Piata has its own décor, making each easily identifiable for drivers still figuring out the city. All are beautiful and blue seems to be the favourite colour.



"Here We Come A’ Wassailing":
At 8:00 a.m. on December 24, we were aroused by a sharp knock at the door. In his non-dressed state, Ed peeked through the peephole, and beheld ---- carolers! Four young men, occasionally on key, stood in the apartment vestibule outside our door and favoured us with Romania’s best-loved carol, “Dimineata lui Craciunu”. (Tomorrow is Christmas day.) In the next couple of hours, we determined that this was indeed a Romanian custom, as they were only the first of a string of carolers, all singing the same song (!), all expecting favours of money or food in return. This however, proved to be the mild version of the custom. From our fourth floor apartment windows, we became aware of large bands of roving well-wishers, going house to house in the early morning hours. Singing is only part of the tradition, which also involves great banging on drums, pipes of all kinds, and raucous shouting. The cacophony set up a bellering and baying of stray dogs the like of which we’ve yet to see surpassed. These revelers are cross-generational, all of them dark-skinned (gypsies?), many dressed in red, with some of the kids in complete bearskins, head to tail. We are told that some of them sing rather well. This revelry reminded us of the tales of the Brummtopfers of our ancestry.

"Dimineata lui Craciunu" (in tune): Christmas Eve at the Athenaum : An evening of Romanian carols sung by ”Preludiu”, one of Romania’s leading choirs

Although we were in a receptive mood for an evening exactly like this, we were hard pressed to think of another choir as fine as the one we heard tonight. These rich harmonies, warm voices and divine tuning, sung from memory with most heartfelt faces, proved that all the awards in the world have not wearied these singers. They finished the concert with an audience sing-along, including “Chingle Bellss”, which got the most applause of all!

“Oh Bring us Some Figgy Pudding":
Supper at Caru cu’ bere was nothing to write home about, although the setting and the entertainment that came with it offset the food quite nicely. We should have stuck with the figgy pudding.



"I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day":
At 11:00 p.m. we attended the service at St. Joseph’s Catholic Church, which proffered more Romanian and German carols, spiced with pipe organ. By midnight there was standing room only; the community of worshippers arriving to celebrate the mass spilled out into the street. From 11:50 to midnight the bells rang nonstop.

"Joy to the World":
7:00 a.m: As we made our way across our vast apartment to call our kids, the phone rang! They had “beat us to it”, and we all talked at once for about half an hour. They were celebrating Christmas Eve together, just like we always did, with gifts and games and encircling each other to say nice things on purpose. If your morning coffee can have a “spring in its step”, ours did today. As for us, our “no gifts this year" promise to each other held up in its usual way. Millie just happened to have picked up a “Kleinigkeit", upon which Ed was obliged to extract the “Kleinigkeit’ that HE had just happened to pick up also. And as usual, the "trifle" that Ed had got for Millie was much nicer (and bigger) than the one she had got for him, he protesting all the while that it's for "both of us"!!! Ah, tradition.....

"O du Froeliche":
This was the opening hymn of the service at the Evangelische Kirche (Lutheran) this morning. The sermon, in clear and (to us) surprisingly comprehensible German, compared the accounts of the Christmas Story in Luke and John. It was lovely to hear the story read in the language in which we first learned it. It was nostalgic.




“Bring me flesh….”:
Noon: And now we were treated to a feast, the likes of which Good King Wenceslas himself would have admired. Christmas dinner consisted of the finest flavours surely to be had in the city. The best part? The beef! Our declaration begat the curiousity of the waiter (Romanians don’t eat much beef), and a discussion ensued covering a plethora of topics which included the farm and my beef-producing brothers back home. The waiter was partial to saying, “Wow-wow!!"
"We Wish You a Merry Christmas!"
As Christmas day in Romania draws to an end, somewhere it is just dawning. Our hearts are full as we send our thoughts, good wishes and hugs out to our friends and families. May “auld acquaintance” not be forgot, and may you experience many blessings in the New Year ahead! Against the night sky, we can see brilliant fireworks as the celebrations continue.

Crăciun Fericit!
Millie and Ed

Istanbul

This is the city to travel to if you want to open a floodgate of conversation with the folk you happen to be talking with at the time. Well-traveled people acknowledge Istanbul as near the top of the list of cities not to miss. Having now been there, we keenly agree, although we are hardly an authority on any aspect of it, except maybe how to ignore a hawker!

We had all of three days (!) and barely skimmed the surface of what this great city has to offer its visitors. Nor did we spend enough time delving into its extraordinary history in advance, particularly as relates to past opulent Empires still evident in the architecture, the mosques and the bazaars. Istanbul is the only city in the world that served as the capital to three major empires—Roman, Byzantine and Ottoman. It the second largest city and third largest metro area in Europe.

A friend from school had seen to it that our hotel not be in the tourist-ridden Sultanhamet area. Once we visited this old section of the city however, we were sorry that we had listened to him! What an adventure!
On the other hand, had we not been “across the strait”, we might not have appreciated the smooth and unruffled manner in which Istanbul moves its millions of people. All public transportation is fast, effortless, on time, and uses the same system of “tokens”. Remember that we are comparing all these cities to Bucharest.

Among the great sights, sounds and smells that Sultanhamet offers are the Blue Mosque, the Hagia Sophia, the Grande Bazaar and the spice bazaar. We awoke to the prayer calls that are piped into every corner of the city via public address system five times a day.

It is astonishing to stand in the Hagia Sophia that, for over 900 years, was the most important church in Christianity. It was commissioned as a cathedral in the 6th century and remained that way until the 15th century, when it was converted into a mosque by Mehmet II. In 1934 the Turkish Republic declared it a museum. The mix of features of cathedral and mosque bestows a peculiar aura to this building that juxtaposes incredible Byzantine mosaics, icons and marble columns with a mihrab (niche indicating the direction of Mecca) and Islamic calligraphy inscriptions on the dome from the Ottoman period.

The Blue Mosque was constructed in 1609 as an Islamic rival to the Hagia Sophia. We arrived just before eleven o’clock prayers. Alongside the building, men were washing their feet under the waterspouts. We were expected only to remove our shoes. The interior, one of the finest examples of Ottoman architecture, is decorated with thousands upon thousands of blue and white Iznik tiles embellished with traditional Ottoman flower patterns. Inside we heard a sermon chanted by the Imam, and then we had to leave.

Some would say that if you haven’t visited the Grand Bazaar, you can’t claim to know Istanbul. We’ll not soon forget this labyrinth of 65 twisting streets crammed with more than 4,000 shops! Endless arrays of carpets, jewellery, textiles, clothing, candy, tea, ceramics, etc. etc., become the object of that great institution called bargaining that will release either the beauty or the beast in the tourist. Here again, we walked over streets that have been teeming for centuries, when this very area became the centre of trading during the Ottoman period.

Millie will begin with “How to talk to a vendor at the Grande Bazaar”:

Vendor: (proferring a boxed set of perfumes stamped “Chanel”,”Givenchy”, etc..) Lady, lady. Hey lady, you would like thees perfume ..…very naheees. Like you lady. Very beautiful like you, lady… hey, lady!! Only 50 lira.

Lady Millie: No thank you, I don’t wear perfume.

Vendor: For you lady, low prahees, 40 lira, lady. Very beautiful, good quality, lady. For you nahees prahees.

M: That’s fine, but you see I don’t wear perfume, so the price doesn’t matter…

V: (interrupting): Ahhhh, Lady, ver-r-r-ry good prahees, for you—30 lira.

M: (less “lady”-like now): Well sir, I hope you can sell it to someone else for that sir, because you’re not going to have any luck with me! Sir! (laughing)

V: (follows suit with the laughing ‘cause that just might be the way to go…) Lady, for you 15 lira! Best prahees.

M: (trying not to look at the boxes in spite of her curiousity to see if all those perfumes are spelled correctly) Well that’s probably more like it but you see, I don’t wear it.

By now, the vendor has tailed Millie far from his original roost, and he scuttles back whence he came. He finds her again later. The same box of ill-fated scents are down to 10 Lira!

Millie: If you keep this up, you’re going to have to give it to me!

Vendor looks puzzled.

M: (on a roll) But guess what, I won’t take it. Know why? I ---- don’t ---- want ----- it!!! . (She chooses a laugh that borders on the hysterical. The vendor is taken aback and turns on his heel. They do not meet again.)

Of course, to respond to the vendors is entirely optional, but if you’re at all in the mood, it can be great fun. They are not all as pushy as this guy, and many of them are entirely good-natured and probably hopelessly bored. But if they see that you’ve just been in the neighbouring store, they will insist on having their turn. This is not to say that we didn’t buy anything. We did. Even rugs. We were prepared in advance for that undertaking however, as Ed will tell you.

I’ll take over. I think that encounter with the ersatz perfume huckster plum barely scratches the surface. Now, let’s see what kind of stamina I had. When I finally found her, Millie’s eye had been captured by a scarf shop, and she’d just settled on a price per scarf for some really serious quantity gift buying. I periodically ducked in and out of this shop, monitoring the progress of this lengthy task. I must have exuded husband-in-waiting pheromones as my patient ennui remained quite undisturbed by the ever vigilant shopkeepers who hovered just outside their tiny premises, casting about for potential suckers for their wares, with an always ready and smiley “Excuse me sir, where are you from?” or, when ignored, “Guten Tag mein Herr, kommen Sie herein!” I flatter myself and my international attitude with the fact that time and again I was mistaken as German, Danish or miscellaneous Scandinavian, whereas in Bucharest, I seem to have American writ large all over me. But I digress. When Millie’s dealings were all but wrapped up, we made a pact to meet at the entrance of the bazaar in five minutes. I guess my listlessness was now gone, having a concrete destination in a finite time frame. Gone as well was my erstwhile curtain of untouchableness. Out of nowhere, a salesman swooped upon me, promptly found a chink in my armour and we entered into an agreement that we would “just look” into his “very” special carpet store. I warned him that I had 5 minutes maximum, but he insisted that was PLENTY time to “just look”. OK, where is it? As he took off at a gallop, making sure I was following, I protested that we had but 5 minutes. “Just around the corner!” he shouted, all at the run. Actually, 7 or 8 corners! I had the foresight to memorize the landmarks as we ran along. At last, there it was, a carpet shop like the hundreds of others, with spectacular inventory, like the hundreds of others. He barked a few Arabic orders to his underling, who brought out carpet after carpet, rolling them out to my feet, one after the other, with the practiced grace of someone to the manner born. “Tea?” he offered. “I only have 5 minutes!” I protested yet again. “Do you prefer the reds, or would you like to see more tribal patterns?” Eight more dazzling carpets in rapid succession, in spectacular array. “I’m sorry, I really do need to go now. My 5 minutes are up.” “What??!” he protests, genuinely dismayed, “Your wife gives you 5 minutes to buy a carpet???!!” Any defense would have been futile, so I wished him a good day, as I made my hasty retreat to the appointed rendezvous.


Shortly after this, we arranged to meet a bona-fide carpet dealer who came highly recommended by friends who have the real thing to show for their troubles. The carpets were bought after much apple tea, wandering conversations and an overnight sleep! Our “souvenirs” pictured here, give our Bucharest apartment a warm and friendly touch and serve to remind us of a wonderful trip.