Blog of Romania

I am in Paris…And my little French often determines people to ask me questions like “Where are you from?”, “What is your native language?”…They often answer themselves: “Italian?”, “Russian?”… I found myself in a weird and uncomfortable situation…Tell the truth or let them think what they want?

Because, you know, on the subway, if I hear a man playing the accordion I often recognize some old and traditional Romanian songs… I feel real pleasure hearing those, but after a while, the singers begins: “I don’t have what to eat in Romania! I am the eldest brother and my mother is waiting for money from me to feed my six little brothers…”

Once, there was this young gypsy boy who spoke poor French and said as loud as he could that his father bit him to death and he ran away from the terror in Romania and here, in Paris, he had no one and no money…

And my boyfriend asked me: “Should I tell him in our Romanian to go and work some place?”…I don’t know what was better to say or do but my answer was “No, what’s the use?”…

So, I talked to our French friends… They told us with frankness that all beggars are Romanians… They try to educate their children not to steal, not to swear and there they come: the worst car thieves, burglars and pickpockets are the Romanians…

And suddenly I feel real rage… We are a good, smart and educated people and we can not be judged by some individuals that speak Romanian… because this is their only link with our country.

You might know this: cab drivers in Bucharest won’t let you wear your seatbelt. The second they smell your intention to reach for the buckle, they go “hey, you don’t need that”. A logical person may ask “hmm yeah but isn’t it illegal to drive around without it?” I’ve tried this a number of times and the answer is always “not in a taxi”. Now my first question is: when was this amendment voted? I mean, I know we have many senators with cab driver brains, but still, is this official?

I’m writing this because last night I had to take a cab and choice was very limited, so my ride had this ugly, old weirdo gipsy driver. When I pulled the seatbelt, he just grabbed my hand, and with a whiny voice started complaining about how everybody insists on the stupid belt. I did manage to fasten it, though, and ignored the guy’s desperate grabs and complaints. Still it felt pretty disgusting.
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“It’s not that I don’t like it here”, he said. “I just don’t really like the people, the bumpy roads, the mess and all the other stuff.”

“There’s just too much garbage everywhere,” he added while throwing the empty cigarette pack out the window of his car, visibly irritated that he couldn’t smoke.

“And you know what else? All these political scandals, what’s with that? And the old people on the buses, I really hate them. They’re always so slow and angry!”

“Well, is there anything you like about Romania?” I asked.
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