Roman Edirisinghe

I just got home (to Oradea) after a rather difficult journey. We left on Saturday evening on an overnight train to Bucharest, the capital. The trip was ~12 hours. Then, we boarded another train to Turnu M?gurele and arrived there at 12 pm on Sunday. What followed there was about 6-7 hours of discussions and negotiations with a company there, with my one ear glued to the phone (with my father) and the other attuned to Constantin’s voice translating Romanian for me. That was some tough stuff and really opened my eyes about how difficult international business can be. It was at that same factory that I ended up ending the life of my folks’ digital camera by dropping it on the ground. Oh well.

That night, we stayed at a hotel (read about what took place there), and woke up at 4 am the following morning (monday) to catch the train to head home. I was standing in the hotel room with the window open, and looking out over the countryside surrounding Turnu M?gurele, I could hear the most fascinting sound: a cacophonous din created by thousands of stray dogs yelping and howling and roosters crowing, greeting the encroaching dawn.

We boarded our train at 5 am, arrived in Bucharest at 8 am. Our connecting train was at 12:30 pm, so we decided to check out Bucharest on foot. We hopped the subway and walked around a bit, which got tiring because we were lugging around our bags. Nevertheless, it was interesting. One of the things that this visit has done is it’s made me re-evaluate my opinion of Romanian Communism. It’s evident that the system is fatally flawed, and you can see it in some of the buildings that Nicolae Ceausescu built during his dictatorship. He built a huge, magnificent complex, and let his people go wanting. It seems there is greed and corruption everywhere one goes. But the Romanians are a resilient and resourceful people – they are immensely creative and ingenious – out of necessity. Now, the country is caught in the flux between modernity and the traditonal, the agricultural and the industrial. It’s a trip, because you can see it before your eyes in public – the old grandparents, wearing their sarves and their lambwool hats, and the youngsters, with their skin tight jeans (ay mamita!), Italian shoes, and cell phones. In spite of appearances, the majority of buildings here are huge concrete apartment blocks that date back to Communist times. They are ugly as hell. I did see a most fascinating building (more: 1|2|3) in Bucharest, downtown. It was a juxtaposition of the old-style architecture (pillars, arches, etc), with a modern, glass faced building. The glass was simply perched on top of this old relic. It totally took me by surprise, and I really liked the way it looked. I regret I couldn’t take a pic as the camera was dead.

Back to the trip. We caught the 12:30 train to Oradea, and at 1 am Monday morning were at Constantin’s house. And that’s it.

Response to my dreads has been full and varied. The best response by far was this 5 or 6 year old kid on the streets of Bucharest, who looked at me and smiled and said, “How nice you look!” Most people kind of look, and then look away when they see I’ve noticed them, and then look again when I’m not looking. Everywhere I go. It’s a good thing I brought the hats, I think. I’ve never gone into the companies without a hat, and I’ve had no problems. People are pretty nice to me. When I arrived at the airport in Budapest, Hungary, the customs officer saw my dreads and instantly pulled me aside to search my bag for pot. I told him afterwards that I haven’t smoked pot in 10 years, and he said “no marijuana, no problem“. On my return trip I think I will wear a hat.

Somewhere between Oradea and Bucharest, stopped and at rest on a train. It’s probably 3 am. Too hot to sleep. It seems you can’t adjust the heating systems for these train cabs, & you can’t roll down the windows, so you are fucked unless you go into the hall and roll down the windows there. Our train cab compartment sleeps six. The only occupant (excluding Constantin & I) is a young woman named Corina, aged 26, a practitioner of cosmetic medicine (not plastic surgery). Well, not only is she a blast, but she’s beautiful. She’s the first woman in Romania I’ve actually ‘conversed’ with and her warmth glows from her laughing eyes. And her totally tight, sexy body! We were totally flirting with each other, using Constantin as an interpreter. He seemed as excited as we were. She somehow talked me into stripping down to my underwear (can I ever keep my clothes on?), which was not too difficult considering the aforementioned problem with the cabin temperature. Man, I wish I could stay longer, and I hope she emails me. Interacting with her was an answered prayer, and it almost seems like someone read my previous entries and decided to have mercy on me. This sampling certainly is delectable. Yum.

“Why is our train not moving?”

“Oh shit! It’s moving! That’s funny. Allright! I didn’t realize it was starting to move until after I asked why the train wasn’t moving. I think the train sat still for several hours. Maybe the conductor took a nap.

Oradea, Romania: I saw a heartbreaking sight today: there was apparently a stray dog roundup close to Felix, the hot spring spa. There were approximately four dogs in a cage designed for two, atop one-another, yelping and biting for room. What a mess. The dog-catchers would round up more dogs, and throw them in the cage through a hole at the top. The new “inmate” would land on top of the other dogs, and the horrible yelping would continue. We went to the hot springs again. It was nice, but I’m starting to feel a little tired of being the freak around here. Everywhere I go, people stare, and I feel like I’m the attraction at some parade or freak circus.

Furthermore, the women here are totally hot and have awesome bodies, but seem to have icy dispositions. Maybe I’m in the wrong city, or it’s the wrong time of year, but none have evinced the slightest sign of interest in the enigmatic foreigner who just appeared in their parts. I get more looks in Milwaukee than I do here, which is not saying much. What the fuck?
This is definitely Eastern Europe. The vestigial after-effects of Communism are apparent in the crumbling facades, in the generally industrial, sooty conditions here. There are lots of factories – man, it makes me feel sad.

My host Constantin’s family have been generous and hospitable. His wife Cornelia is a slave to the kitchen (by my customs and standards) and seems to live to please her husband. Presumably most women here are totally subservient to men. She is totally religious – Orthodox – and goes as often as she can to church. She sort of reminds me of my mom in some ways.
I miss contact with people. I’ve only really interacted with Constantin, which is fine. He’s talkative, but I long for more people my age. More girls, or different people. I’m in his company from dawn to dusk as we interact with people at the factory. My Romanian is very limited, so I have to refer to the book to speak. I haven’t really tried that much, and I’m dependent on Constantin to communicate with others. Maybe that’s it. I guess I miss the warmth of the people I know in Wisconsin – the familiar faces. Will it ever be possible for me to move away from Milwaukee permanently in search of broader horizons? It feels really difficult being so different from people here. It reminds me of coming to the USA when I was ten.
I also miss playing guitar.

Chicago-O’Hare: waiting to board my flight. Met an older Italian woman named Carla, and appeared on her home video as a friendly person she met on her trip. We talked about how we both liked San Francisco. She was from Torino.
I got a momentary tingle when I gave myself permission to think about where I’m actually going. Budapest! Then Romania! Awesome! The country that bears my name.

We were concerned that we were missing out on other things on the island, so we decided to leave Las Terrenas for an area called Las Galeras. We took a van ride, and again got severely ripped off (by local standards. By US standards we paid about 15 bucks to get shuttled all the way to Las Galeras by a really crabby driver). To see exactly where we are, or were, use the the following map(s): map 1 | map 2

So, after a rather nauseating drive (Roman has no stomach for jack-rabbit starts in extremely hot weather), we arrived at Las Galeras, and were promptly accosted by a guy named Ambiori, who seemed to be an all around con-man/tour guide. He walked us to our hotel, but only after offering us a ride to the area’s best beach (Playa Rincon) on his boat tomorrow. After we ate at our hotel, we walked down to the beach at Las Galeras. Man, were we extremely disappointed! The water was fine, but was rather shallow, with lots of sea grass. Visibility underwater (for snorkeling) was close to zero. Swimming out far was impossible. Additionally, there were more waves. Totally bummed, we left the beach & walked around town, only to meet a totally different vibe from that of Las Terrenas. Here, the locals had their haunts, and the tourists had theirs. Not so in Las Terrenas – local and tourist cultures meld with each other, people smile very often, and I was starting to miss it. I guess it was the closest thing to home, apart from being home. The following day we took up Ambiori’s offer of a boat ride to Playa Rincon (rated by Conde-Nast Traveller as one of the top 10 beaches in the Caribbean). At $10 per head, the boat ride was a total rip, but we met a Slovenian couple named Roc and Simone, who happened to both be lawyers. Whoa. It’s one thing to meet a lawyer from Slovenia, but to meet two? ¡Dios Mio!

Playa Rincon was somewhat disappointing. OK, so there’s 5 kilometers or more of beach that you can walk. It’s pretty isolated. You could take your clothes off and run around in the water for a while before anyone noticed, if anyone noticed. But we didn’t do anything like that, not us. 😉 Overall, I think Conde-Nast Traveller clearly has their head up their collective ass. The beach is really nothing impressive. And the fact that it’s impossible to reach save by the 15 minute boat trip or the 45 minute car ride made it even more annoying. To boot, we had opportunist swindlers like Ambiori to deal with every step of the way. Nevertheless, we spend the day at Playa Rincon, returned to the hotel in the afternoon, and dined at the hotel again. This time, we happened to meet 2 women from Texas. What a trip that was! I hadn’t heard American English spoken in a week, and it was quite enjoyable to hear, actually. We found out from them that Survivor was actually being filmed at a beach by Las Galeras. Funny stuff. We decided that night that is was back to Las Terrenas for us.

Morning came and found us rearing to go. We waved goodbye to Ambiori and caught a gua-gua (public transport) to Samaná, a town which is famous for whale watching when the season is right (December-March). The gua-gua, which happened to be a van, started out with 3 our 4 people in it, and filled up gradually along the way. You wouldn’t believe the amount of people that they fit in this van – I had an older woman crushed up against me, my arm was draped around the seat behind her, there was another woman with a baby, older men, younger men, and our 2 huge backpacks, we must have had 15 people in there at one point. The cool thing was that everytime someone came on the van, they greeted everyone with a “¡Saludos!” What a great way to interact with your fellow human, especially if you’re going to put your head in their armpit for 45 minutes. Then, it started to rain, and we had to close the windows of the van, which had no air-conditioning. Figure it out…

We arrived at Samaná (I won’t describe the bathroom at the public market there), and caught another gua-gua to El Limon, en route to Las Terrenas. This one happened to be an open-backed truck, like a Chevy S-10 pickup. We piled in the back with our stuff, and headed into the mountains. A short way into the ride, it started to drizzle, which was quite enjoyable. It really cooled me off. Then, it started to rain cats and dogs! The driver stopped the gua-gua, pulled out a blue tarp, and handed it to us. We unfolded it, and there we were – me, Saralé, and three local guys, one of them with a bucket of dead fish, holding on to a holey blue tarp for dear life as our gua-gua hit the mountain roads at 50 mph in the pouring rain. Believe it or not, I had a smile on my face the whole time, because it was really, really fun. I would do it again, and again. Finally it stopped, we made it to El Limon, caught another gua-gua to Las Terrenas, and here we are! It feels good to be back home again.

Saralé is giving me that look that says “You’ve been writing that email for an hour now, can we go?” I’d best get going…

Much love,

Roman
Las Terrenas
Republica Dominicana

Hola!
We are now in Las Terrenas, a small fishing town on the Peninsula of Samaná, in the northwestern part of Hispaniola. The ride here (on sunday) was a grueling, 4 1/2 hour journey thru the rain on a freezing (air conditioned) bus. I mean really, folks, I was cold in a t-shirt in the Dominican Republic. We got dropped of at a small crossroads town called Sanchez at 8:30 pm, and it was raining. Assailed from all sides by guys offering us rides, we finally negotiated a fare in a gua-gua (a simple truck) to Las Terrenas. The fare was 500 pesos, which is about 15 bucks. Our driver was a guy named Henry, who was a devout Christian. So devout in fact, that he had us pay 500 pesos for a ride that we later found out should have cost no more than 30 pesos! Nevertheless, we were desperate to get to the hotel L’aubergine (eggplant in french). We finally got there and CRASHED hard.

The following day was cloudy, with a lot of rain. But we discovered that we were practically on the ocean – not tastelessly as in Florida, where the hotels tower over the shores and mar the natural beauty, but just behind a row of coconut trees. What fun! Oh, to taste the ocean again!

It was the following day that the sun peeked through. We picked up some goggles to see inside the water. The coral reefs are amazing – they reminded us of the rocky landforms seen in Utah. Then there were the fish, tons of brightly colored fish, yellow, purple, blue and silver. We would coast over algae about 2 inches under our bellies, and then be spit out into this vast chamber surrounded by coral reefs. Oh, the treasures this world holds just beneath the surface…

We were also fortunate enough to meet a group of young local kids (ages 2 to 11), who played dominoes with us and spent some time with us. The best way to find out about a culture is through its children – their outlook is uncluttered, and largely immune to the distorted perceptions commonly held by (us) adults.

We’re planning our imminent departure from this beautiful place. We’re pondering the possibilities, and we’ll keep you posted as to our next whereabouts.

Love,

Saralé y Roman

This bus ride was

1. freezing due to overcompensated A/C and
2. nausea inducing due to psychotic driving on tiny, bumpy roads in a giant tourbus!!?! Had I consumed any dairy before the ride, I would have surely lost my guts all over the bloody place.
3. Additionally, there was a TV playing really bad American B-movies, with Spanish subtitles. The TV tint was off – everything was purple – and the VHS had been played so many times that the picture was shot and the audio garbled. It sounded like it was underwater.

Funny, here we are in a tropical country and I’m huddled for warmth in a freezing bus. The irony was splendid. I could just look out the window and see coconut trees and bananas. It was all so close but just slightly out of reach as we tore towards our destination.

Hours later, the bus dropped us off somewhere in the mountains, and it was now raining. Fortunately, it was still warmer outside than it was inside the bus. As the rain fell, we sought a ride to Las Terrenas, where we had our hotel reservation.

Saralé y Roman plot to smoke a cigar.

Hola!

Hailing from an internet cafe the zona colonial in Santo Domingo, Republica Dominicana. The weather is hot. We love it. We’re almost thinking about not coming back, but you’ll all see us when we return on August 15th. We make good on our commitments, you know.

Anyway, tomorrow we leave for Las Terrenas on the peninsula de Samana, in hopes of settling down on a nice beach. So far, our stay has consisted of longs walks in the zona colonial of Santo Domingo (the colonial zone dates back directly to Cristobal Colon,aka Christopher Columbus, who set up the first Spanish colony here), dancing to the sounds of merengue at the annual merengue festival in Santo Domingo, eating red beans & rice, sleeping, shopping, checking out the local skateboard park, etc. Man, it feels so good to be on vacation…

We are frequently mistaken for French, Italian, or Spanish people, but rarely as Americans. My Spanish is improving somewhat. I’m trying to figure out how to bring back a whole truckload of musical instruments… Fed Ex/UPS rates may be very high here. I will do what I can.

I miss you all, believe it or not – I will try to connect intermittently via internet cafes if we find any. Until then, take care of yourselves and each other. We’ll be back in one piece.

Love
Roman y Sarale

5:27 am – Missed our bus. Offered Aussie girl a ride to O’Hare with my mom. She declined.

6:30 am – Mom arrives to pick us up. Aussie girl already left.

8:30 am – Arrived at O’Hare, hair standing on end. Mom drove like a maniac.

10:00 am – Having eaten tofu @ Panda, we board the flight, but only after a brief yoga session with a family bound for a scuba holiday.

10:30 am – Flight delayed due to a generator failure. A little while later, we take off. I look across the aisle and see the young Puerto Rican girl with her hands clasped, praying intently. Announcer is totally drunk. We could barely understand him.

…(diary entry picks up much later)…

What a short flight it was, and everybody cheered when the plane landed. That was a first for me.