The Danube Delta.
I am rushing to post these photos of my recent visit to Romania's Danube Delta (and Europe's largest wetlands) so as to meet my self-imposed deadline of at least one post a month. Most will be familiar to my Facebook friends, but the difference is that at some point in the near future, I will be returning to this here post and writing all about tardy birds, the hardships of painting Easter eggs Romanian-style and the surprise, nay shock, of enjoying travel with a four-month old baby. Be back soon....
4/4/09: As promised, I'm back.
So, the last two months have allowed me to spend some quality time in Bucharest, which, lucky for me, happens to be pretty high on my list of favorite places. I've been watching this city grow and change for the past five years, particularly immediately after Romania's inclusion in the EU, when car dealerships began sprouting like weeds, historic buildings started receiving much needed face lifts and the already existing energy in the streets only intensified (as did the traffic, but that is another story).
Aside from the chance to watch this evolution in action, one major plus of going back to the same place so often has been the opportunity it's provided to establish lasting friendships. Best case in point, ultra-cool girl and frequent commenter to this site, Laura P. It was she that invited me to spend a part of the Orthodox Easter weekend with her and her friends in the Danube Delta. She sent me links to the cute hotel where we would be staying and made all the arrangements for me to return early due to work commitments. What she did not immediately mention was that there would be with a four month old baby named Sarah joining us.
When she did eventually drop this into casual conversation, I struggled to find an appropriate excuse to back out of the deal. It is not that I dislike babies (full disclosure: I dislike babies), it is just that the idea of a relaxing weekend spend enjoying nature, watching birds, soaking up the tranquility of the wetlands does not compute when you throw a baby into the mix. Not surprisingly, Laura was not willing to accept this setback, and next thing I knew, we were lost (a fact that led to me learning some words that were probably not suitable for baby Sarah) and heading in the general direction of Tulcea.
This is where the Danube River, after flowing through 10 different countries, divides itself into three branches before emptying out into the Black Sea. From there, it is only possible to continue by ferry to the various communities downstream. Our destination was Sulina, at the very end of the middle branch. We took the fast ferry, 1 1/2 hrs versus the slow one I had to take on the return which clocked in at 4 hrs. I assumed it was the rocking motion of the boat that kept the baby so nice and calm. Upon arrival, we checked into a small family-run hotel, dropped off our bags and wandered around the small, charmingly-dilapidated village.
The air was clean, the baby was being very low-maintenance, there were a couple of fun-looking dive bars, it seemed that a chilled-out, rejuvenating weekend might be possible after all. I still believed this when we got back to the hotel and I saw that there were eggs, glass templates and arts supplies scattered about the lobby. The owner had two children (one who I am certain resides in a corn field and comes out at night to kill and dismember unsuspecting victims), so it was possible this was set up for them. Yeah, no.
There was an itinerary that I was not aware of (I was the only non-Romanian speaker on property, so I was missing a lot of the details) and the plans for this evening involved us painting religious icons and coloring Easter eggs. Only this was not Easter egg painting as I knew it, where you put the egg on a little wire egg holder, dip it in a bowl full of dye and if you are really in a fit of inspiration, put a sticker on it. These were mini-art projects, rich in tradition and meant to be taken seriously.
The first step is to use a stylus dipped in hot wax to draw a pattern on the egg. Sounds great in theory, but try as I may, I just kept ending up with big glops of wax on my egg, with no shape or grace. I quickly decided to forego the intricate traditional patterns that had been suggestion and go to my limited stock of standard doodles, mainly peace signs and palm trees. Once the wax pattern has been drawn, the egg is dipped in dye and that should be that. But it isn't. Now you have to burn the wax off, exposing the parts of the egg that are not yet colored, draw a new pattern with the infernal wax stylus, dip the egg in yet another color, rinse and repeat.
One egg can take hours! Learning this, I declared that the peace egg was of a new time and place, one that celebrates all things monochrome. It would be one color and that was that. The host looked appalled, baby Sarah watched us in amusement and I fussed and complained enough for the both of us. Same thing for the icon painting, where I decided St. Nicolas should be wearing a pink and lavender frock and announced him an honorary citizen of the Planet Fabulous. After a few hours of this arts and crafts fiasco, we hit the dive bars and tried to put it all behind us.
The next day was the boat trip and there would be bird sightings galore and no one could be expected to paint an egg on a moving boat. This was actually my second visit to the Delta and I have fond memories of all the birds. Sadly, the only thing I have are memories since the fine upstanding Alitalia baggage handlers stole my laptop and camera containing all of my photos from that previous visit. (The day that horrid airline goes out of business will be a joyous one.) But now, I was going to have a chance to try to re-capture some of those images.
Come morning, we all boarded a small boat and rode out to where the Danube empties into the Black Sea, passing several lighthouses and abandoned canneries along the way. We could see the Ukraine, but, curiously, no bird more exotic than a sea gull. We entered into the small canals, where I was certain we would find all kinds of avian life, but still nothing. The Captain blamed the delay of the bird's arrival on a long winter. I theorized that the birds were using a crappy travel agent, one who had probably booked them on Alitalia. We eventually found some white pelicans, but by then, everyone on the boat was grumbling and complaining. Everyone but little Sarah, who was content as could be riding along in this windy dinghy. It had been over 24 hours and I had not heard a single cry come out of that child.
We returned to the hotel, which was now thankfully free of art supplies. Preparations were underway for the evening when Easter is celebrated at a midnight mass. After the mass, families throw massive parties, indulging in everything that they have given up for lent. The party sounded great, but good little Atheist that I am, the idea of the mass was not sitting too well with me. Had I the ability to speak Romanian, I would have known that Laura had already solved this problem with a genius idea.
Everyone else would go to the mass and we would stay behind to take care of Sarah. It was the first time it had ever occurred to me that there might actually be an advantage in bringing an infant along. Sure enough, we relaxed with the coolest baby I've ever met and were on hand to kick off the party when the others returned. There was a ritual where one person smashes a hard-boiled egg against another person's hard-boiled egg and the one with the unbroken egg goes on to challenge someone else.
Showing no ability with Romanian eggs in any way, shape or form, I ended up with 3 out of 3 cracked eggs. Luckily, there is something called tuica (aka Romanian firewater) to make you forget any damaged eggs, as well as painted eggs, absent birds or resident children of the corn. Not that it was really necessary. Having such a kind, welcoming friend in a foreign land had allowed me to experience life as a local would, and I had loved every second of it. I want to extend a heartfelt thanks to Laura, Anna, Diana, Sorin and especially, the remarkable baby Sarah for making such a wonderful weekend possible.
4/4/09: As promised, I'm back.
So, the last two months have allowed me to spend some quality time in Bucharest, which, lucky for me, happens to be pretty high on my list of favorite places. I've been watching this city grow and change for the past five years, particularly immediately after Romania's inclusion in the EU, when car dealerships began sprouting like weeds, historic buildings started receiving much needed face lifts and the already existing energy in the streets only intensified (as did the traffic, but that is another story).
Aside from the chance to watch this evolution in action, one major plus of going back to the same place so often has been the opportunity it's provided to establish lasting friendships. Best case in point, ultra-cool girl and frequent commenter to this site, Laura P. It was she that invited me to spend a part of the Orthodox Easter weekend with her and her friends in the Danube Delta. She sent me links to the cute hotel where we would be staying and made all the arrangements for me to return early due to work commitments. What she did not immediately mention was that there would be with a four month old baby named Sarah joining us.
When she did eventually drop this into casual conversation, I struggled to find an appropriate excuse to back out of the deal. It is not that I dislike babies (full disclosure: I dislike babies), it is just that the idea of a relaxing weekend spend enjoying nature, watching birds, soaking up the tranquility of the wetlands does not compute when you throw a baby into the mix. Not surprisingly, Laura was not willing to accept this setback, and next thing I knew, we were lost (a fact that led to me learning some words that were probably not suitable for baby Sarah) and heading in the general direction of Tulcea.
This is where the Danube River, after flowing through 10 different countries, divides itself into three branches before emptying out into the Black Sea. From there, it is only possible to continue by ferry to the various communities downstream. Our destination was Sulina, at the very end of the middle branch. We took the fast ferry, 1 1/2 hrs versus the slow one I had to take on the return which clocked in at 4 hrs. I assumed it was the rocking motion of the boat that kept the baby so nice and calm. Upon arrival, we checked into a small family-run hotel, dropped off our bags and wandered around the small, charmingly-dilapidated village.
The air was clean, the baby was being very low-maintenance, there were a couple of fun-looking dive bars, it seemed that a chilled-out, rejuvenating weekend might be possible after all. I still believed this when we got back to the hotel and I saw that there were eggs, glass templates and arts supplies scattered about the lobby. The owner had two children (one who I am certain resides in a corn field and comes out at night to kill and dismember unsuspecting victims), so it was possible this was set up for them. Yeah, no.
There was an itinerary that I was not aware of (I was the only non-Romanian speaker on property, so I was missing a lot of the details) and the plans for this evening involved us painting religious icons and coloring Easter eggs. Only this was not Easter egg painting as I knew it, where you put the egg on a little wire egg holder, dip it in a bowl full of dye and if you are really in a fit of inspiration, put a sticker on it. These were mini-art projects, rich in tradition and meant to be taken seriously.
The first step is to use a stylus dipped in hot wax to draw a pattern on the egg. Sounds great in theory, but try as I may, I just kept ending up with big glops of wax on my egg, with no shape or grace. I quickly decided to forego the intricate traditional patterns that had been suggestion and go to my limited stock of standard doodles, mainly peace signs and palm trees. Once the wax pattern has been drawn, the egg is dipped in dye and that should be that. But it isn't. Now you have to burn the wax off, exposing the parts of the egg that are not yet colored, draw a new pattern with the infernal wax stylus, dip the egg in yet another color, rinse and repeat.
One egg can take hours! Learning this, I declared that the peace egg was of a new time and place, one that celebrates all things monochrome. It would be one color and that was that. The host looked appalled, baby Sarah watched us in amusement and I fussed and complained enough for the both of us. Same thing for the icon painting, where I decided St. Nicolas should be wearing a pink and lavender frock and announced him an honorary citizen of the Planet Fabulous. After a few hours of this arts and crafts fiasco, we hit the dive bars and tried to put it all behind us.
The next day was the boat trip and there would be bird sightings galore and no one could be expected to paint an egg on a moving boat. This was actually my second visit to the Delta and I have fond memories of all the birds. Sadly, the only thing I have are memories since the fine upstanding Alitalia baggage handlers stole my laptop and camera containing all of my photos from that previous visit. (The day that horrid airline goes out of business will be a joyous one.) But now, I was going to have a chance to try to re-capture some of those images.
Come morning, we all boarded a small boat and rode out to where the Danube empties into the Black Sea, passing several lighthouses and abandoned canneries along the way. We could see the Ukraine, but, curiously, no bird more exotic than a sea gull. We entered into the small canals, where I was certain we would find all kinds of avian life, but still nothing. The Captain blamed the delay of the bird's arrival on a long winter. I theorized that the birds were using a crappy travel agent, one who had probably booked them on Alitalia. We eventually found some white pelicans, but by then, everyone on the boat was grumbling and complaining. Everyone but little Sarah, who was content as could be riding along in this windy dinghy. It had been over 24 hours and I had not heard a single cry come out of that child.
We returned to the hotel, which was now thankfully free of art supplies. Preparations were underway for the evening when Easter is celebrated at a midnight mass. After the mass, families throw massive parties, indulging in everything that they have given up for lent. The party sounded great, but good little Atheist that I am, the idea of the mass was not sitting too well with me. Had I the ability to speak Romanian, I would have known that Laura had already solved this problem with a genius idea.
Everyone else would go to the mass and we would stay behind to take care of Sarah. It was the first time it had ever occurred to me that there might actually be an advantage in bringing an infant along. Sure enough, we relaxed with the coolest baby I've ever met and were on hand to kick off the party when the others returned. There was a ritual where one person smashes a hard-boiled egg against another person's hard-boiled egg and the one with the unbroken egg goes on to challenge someone else.
Showing no ability with Romanian eggs in any way, shape or form, I ended up with 3 out of 3 cracked eggs. Luckily, there is something called tuica (aka Romanian firewater) to make you forget any damaged eggs, as well as painted eggs, absent birds or resident children of the corn. Not that it was really necessary. Having such a kind, welcoming friend in a foreign land had allowed me to experience life as a local would, and I had loved every second of it. I want to extend a heartfelt thanks to Laura, Anna, Diana, Sorin and especially, the remarkable baby Sarah for making such a wonderful weekend possible.
Woman, great photos you have of the Danube Delta !!!! I cant wait for your story...and hope that next time we will see many many birds and all the people that couldn't be with us, will be able to arrange all the stuff and join us ;))
ReplyDeleteWe had GREAT time !! Thanks ;))
Loved it.
ReplyDelete-- Inca's dad :-)
*This will go into Earthwitness
I have a good friend in Romania, Adriana, an architect. Let me know when your next visit is...
ReplyDelete