about romania: mail and other relevant issues
Getting mail is awesome. Getting packages is even more awesome. I liken it to camp where you cross your fingers that your name will be called at mail call and then when it is called, there’s the excitement of an envelope or a box to open and the joy of flaunting in front of jealous campers. OK, so maybe it’s not exactly like camp. But there is a sense of being missed and remembered and special when you get mail.
The actual logistics of getting of the package are not so fantastic usually.
So today, we get hyped up for our journey to pick up Erica’s package in Piatra Neamt. We heard it had Reese’s Cups so we were giddy. All international packages for us stay at the county seat until we pick them up. We arrived 30 minutes early for our microbus to make sure we got seats rather than being sandwiched in the aisle. We were the first ones there and got seats. Sweet. We didn’t die on the ride to Piatra Neamt (really, do they EVER plow the roads?!?!). Score. In Piatra, we ran into a postman who very kindly told us where the “colet extern” (External Packages) office now is (it had moved). We were headed the right direction and arrived at the post office to find our favorite package lady “Lenush” there. Are we lucky, or what? We get our package (and sweet talk our way to pick up Alex’s package) and head to lunch with Ted. Lunch with Ted was good. Tasty shoarma (Romanians spell it oddly, I know). Good conversation. It’s always good to catch up with people. It makes me feel less crazy.
After lunch, we headed to the autogara (bus station) to catch a bus back. And this is where things got interesting. We knew there was microbus leaving at 1PM for Targu Neamt but it was nowhere to be found. So we waited, crossing our fingers for a seat. The bus showed up and parked right in front of me, putting me at the front of the line. As I turned around to catch David’s eye, a wave of bunicas elbowed past me and then a mass of teenaged angst followed — all shoving me out of the way. I actually stepped back once it was pointless and sarcastically said in Romanian — Go in, please. Don’t worry about me. And off the bus went. David wasn’t happy about me backing up, the pushiness of the Romanians, or the fact that we’d have to wait a while longer. We had a “philosophical” “discussion” (umm, OK a heated argument) about what to do in such situations. But it was hard to argue in the cold with beautiful perfect snowflakes falling and cute puppies wandering about.
Time passed quickly. As the next bus time approached, we saw a new looming crowd of teenage angst and a small gaggle of bunicas forming. But we were ready and we had been talking to a nun, so God was on our side. (tee hee) A HUGE Pepto Bismal pink charter bus pulled up headed to Targu Neamt and we bee-lined for it. It was still incredibly full — of bunicas and teens (luckily no livestock this go-round), but we had seats and were homeward bound.
So we relaxed — David dozed; I eavesdropped on some teenage drama. And then, the bus stopped making noise, but it continued to move to a slow stop on the snowbank on the “shoulder.” The bus was broken. So we waited again for another bus to come to pick us up and take us the rest of the way.
We left our apartment at 8AM this morning and arrived back at our apartment at 4:30PM. And it was all for a wonderfully thoughtful care package from my dear friend Erica (pppssssttttt…. Thanks, Erica, you rock!) and lunch with Ted. It was totally worth it. And to be truthful, the story is one I’m sure we’ll tell our children whenever they complain about anything. “Your father and I walked through a foot of snow to the dirtiest autogara and stayed for umpteen hours on a bus, just to pick up a package from your Aunt Erica……..so I don’t want to hear it from you….” Totally, worth it.